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HOUGHTCN,   MIFFLIN   AND  COMPANY, 
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A  WOMAN'S  REASON 


A     NOVEL 


BY 


WILLIAM    D.    HOWELLS 

n 

AUTHOR    OF   "  A   MODERN    INSTANCE,"    "  DOCTOR    BREEN's    PRACTICE," 
"  A    FOREGONE   CONCLUSION, >;    ETC. 


Of   THF 


I    UNIVERSITY    | 

OF 


BOSTON  AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND    COMPANY 


HOFFITI 


Copyright,   1882, 
BY  WILLIAM   D.   HOWELLS. 


All  rights  reserved. 


TWENTIETH    IMPRESSION 


A  WOMAN'S  EEASON. 


THE  day  had  been  very  oppressive,  and  at  half- 
past  five  in  the  afternoon,  the  heat  had  scarcely 
abated,  to  the  perception  of  Mr.  Joshua  Harkness, 
as  he  walked  heavily  up  the  Park  Street  mall  in 
Boston  Common.  When  he  came  opposite  the 
Brewer  Fountain,  with  its  Four  Seasons  of  severe 
drouth,  he  stopped  short,  and  stared  at  the  bronze 
group  with  its  insufficient  dribble,  as  if  he  had 
never  seen  it  before.  Then  he  felt  infirmly  about 
the  ground  with  his  stick,  stepped  aside,  and  sank 
tremulously  into  one  of  the  seats  at  the  edge  of  the 
path.  The  bench  was  already  partly  occupied  by  a 
young  man  and  a  young  woman ;  the  young  man 
had  his  arm  thrown  along  the  back  of  the  seat 
behind  the  young  woman ;  their  heads  were  each 
tilted  toward  the  other,  and  they  were  making 
love  almost  as  frankly  in  that  public  place  as  they 
might  in  the  seclusion  of  a  crowded  railway  train. 
They  both  glanced  at  the  intruder,  and  exchanged 
smiles,  apparently  of  pity  for  his  indecency,  and 


154767 


2  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

then  went  on  with  their  love-making,  while  Mr. 
Harkness,  unconscious  of  his  offence,  stared  eagerly 
out  over  the  Common,  and  from  time  to  time  made 
gestures  or  signals  with  his  stick  in  that  direction. 
It  was  that  one  day  of  the  week  when  people  are 
not  shouted  at  by  a  multitude  of  surly  sign-boards 
to  keep  off  the  grass,  and  the  turf  was  everywhere 
dotted  with  lolling  and  lounging  groups.  Perhaps 
to  compensate  for  the  absence  of  the  sign-boards 
(which  would  reappear  over  night  like  a  growth  of 
disagreeable  fungi),  there  was  an  unusual  number  of 
policemen  sauntering  about,  and  it  was  one  of  these 
whom  Mr.  Harkness  was  trying  to  attract  with  his 
cane.  If  any  saw  him,  none  heeded,  and  he  had  to 
wait  till  a  policeman  came  down  the  mall  in  front  of 
him.  This  could  not  have  been  so  long  a  time  as  it 
seemed  to  Mr.  Harkness,  who  was  breathing  thickly, 
and  now  and  then  pressing  his  hand  against  his  fore 
head,  like  one  who  tries  to  stay  a  reeling  brain. 

"  Please  call  a  carriage,"  he  panted,  as  the  officer 
whom  he  had  thrust  in  the  side  with  his  cane 
stopped  and  looked  down  at  him  ;  and  then  as  the  man 
seemed  to  hesitate,  he  added  :  "  My  name  is  Hark 
ness  ;  I  live  at  9  Beacon  Steps.  I  wish  to  go  home 
at  once  ;  I  've  been  taken  faint." 

Beacon  Steps  is  not  Beacon  Street,  but  it  is  of  like 
blameless  social  tradition,  and  the  name,  together 
with  a  certain  air  of  moneyed  respectability  in  Mr. 
Harkness,  had  its  effect  with  the  policeman. 

"  Sick  ? "  he  asked.  "  Well,  you  are  pale.  You 
just  hold  on,  a  minute.  Heh,  there  !  heh  !"  he 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  3 

shouted  to  a  passing  hackman,  who  promptly 
stopped,  turned  his  horses,  and  drew  up  beside  the 
curb  next  the  Common.  "  Now  you  take  my  arm, 
Mr.  Harkness,  and  I'll  help  you  to  the  carriage." 
He  raised  the  gentleman  to  his  benumbed  feet,  and 
got  him  away  through  the  gathering  crowd  ;  when 
he  was  gone,  the  crowd  continued  to  hang  about  the 
place  where  he  had  been  sitting  in  such  numbers, 
that  the  young  man  first  took  his  arm  down  from 
the  back  of  the  seat,  and  the  young  woman  tilted 
her  head  away  from  his,  and  then  they  both,  with 
vexed  and  impatient  looks,  rose  and  walked  away, 
seeking  some  other  spot  for  the  renewal  of  their 
courtship. 

The  policeman  had  not  been  able  to  refrain  from 
driving  home  with  Mr.  Harkness,  whom  he  patro 
nised  with  a  sort  of  municipal  kindness,  on  the  way; 
and  for  whom,  when  he  had  got  him  in-doors,  and 
comfortably  stretched  upon  a  lounge  in  the  library, 
he  wanted  to  go  and  call  the  doctor.  But  Mr. 
Harkness  refused,  saying  that  he  had  had  these 
attacks  before,  and  would  soon  be  all  right.  He 
thanked  the  officer  by  name,  after  asking  him  for  it, 
and  the  officer  went  away,  leaving  Mr.  Harkness  to 
the  care  of  the  cook  who,  in  that  midsummer  time, 
seemed  to  have  sole  charge  of  the  house  and  its 
master.  The  policeman  flipped  the  dust  from  the 
breast  and"  collar  of  his  coat,  in  walking  back  to  his 
beat,  with  the  right  feeling  of  a  man  who  would  like 
to  be  better  prepared  if  summoned  a  second  time  to 
befriend  a  gentleman  of  Mr.  Harkness's  standing,  and 


4  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

to  meet  in  coming  out  of  his  house  a  young  lady  of 
sudi  beauty  and  elegance  as  he  had  just  encountered. 
This  young  lady,  as  he  closed  the  door  behind  him, 
had  run  up  the  steps  with  the  loop  of  her  train  in 
one  hand — after  the  fashion  of  ten  years  ago,  and  in 
the  other  a  pretty  travelling-bag,  carried  with  the 
fearlessness  of  a  lady  who  knows  that  people  are  out 
of  town.  She  glanced  a  little  wonderingly,  a  little 
defiantly,  at  the  policeman,  who,  seeing  that  she 
must  drop  one  or  other  of  her  burdens  to  ring,  politely 
rang  for  her. 

"Thank  you!"  said  the  young  lady,  speaking  a 
little  more  wonderingly,  a  little  more  defiantly  than 
she  had  looked. 

"  Quite  welcome,  Miss,"  returned  the  policeman, 
and  touched  his  hat  in  going  down  the  steps,  while 
the  young  lady  turned  and  stared  after  him,  leaning 
a  little  over  the  top  step  on  which  she  stood,  with 
her  back  to  the  door.  She  was  very  pretty  indeed, 
with  blue  eyes  at  once  tender  and  honest,  and  the 
fair  hair,  that  goes  with  their  beauty,  hanging  loosely 
upon  her  forehead.  Her  cheeks,  in  their  young 
perfection  of  outline,  had  a  flush  beyond  their  usual 
delicate  colour ;  the  heat,  and  her  eager  dash  up  the 
steps  had  suffused  them  with  a  dewy  bloom,  that 
seemed  momently  to  deepen  and  soften.  Her  love 
liness  was  saved  from  the  insipidity  of  faultless  lines 
by  a  little  downward  curve,  a  quirk,  or  call  it  dimple, 
at  one  corner  of  her  mouth,  which,  especially  in 
repose,  gave  it  a  touch  of  humorous  feeling  and 
formed  its  final  charm  :  it  seemed  less  a  trait  of  face 


A  WOMAN'S   REASON.  5 

than  of  character.  That  fine  positive  grace,  which 
is  called  style,  and  which  is  so  eminently  the  gift 
of  exquisite  nerves,  had  not  cost  her  too  much  j  she 
was  slim,  but  not  fragile,  and  her  very  motionless- 
ness  suggested  a  vivid  bird-like  mobility ;  she  stood, 
as  if  she  had  alighted  upon  the  edge  of  the  step.  At 
the  opening  of  the  door  behind  her  she  turned  alertly 
from  the  perusal  of  the  policeman's  retreating  back, 
and  sprang  within. 

"  How  d'  do,  Margaret  ? "  She  greeted  the  cook  in 
a  voice  whose  bright  kindness  seemed  the  translation 
of  her  girlish  beauty  into  sound.  "  Surprised  to  see 
me  ?"  She  did  not  wait  for  the  cook's  answer,  but 
put  down  her  bag,  and  began  pulling  off  her  gloves, 
after  shaking  out  her  skirt,  and  giving  that  pene 
trating  sidelong  downward  look  at  it,  which  women 
always  give  their  drapery  at  moments  of  arrival  or 
departure.  She  turned  into  the  drawing-room  from 
the  hall,  and  went  up  to  the  long,  old-fashioned 
mirror,  and  glanced  at  the  face  which  it  dimly 
showed  her  in  the  close-shuttered  room.  The  face  had 
apparently  not  changed  since  she  last  saw  it  in  that 
mirror,  arid  one  might  have  fancied  that  the  young 
lady  was  somehow  surprised  at  this. 

"  May  I  ask  why  policemen  are  coming  and  going 
in  and  out  of  our  house,  Margaret  ? "  she  demanded  of 
the  cook's  image,  which,  further  down  in  the  mirror, 
hesitated  at  the  doorway. 

"He  come  home  with  your  father,  Miss  Helen," 
answered  the  cook,  and  as  Helen  turned  round  and 
stared  at  her  in  the  flesh,  she  continued  :  "  He  had 


6  A  WOMAN  S  REASON. 

one  of  his  faint  turns  in  the  Common.     He  's  laying 
down  in  the  library  now,  Miss  Helen. " 

"  0,  poor  papa  !"  wailed  the  young  lady,  who  knew 
that  in  spite  of  the  cook's  pronoun,  it  could  not  be 
the  policeman  who  was  then  reposing  from  faintness 
in  the  library.  She  whirled  away  from  the  mirror, 
and  swooped  through  the  doorway  into  the  hall,  and 
back  into  the  room  where  her  father  lay.  "  The 
heat  has  been  too  much  for  him,"  she  moaned,  in 
mixed  self-reproach  and  compassion,  as  she  flew  ; 
and  she  dropped  upon  her  knees  beside  him,  and 
fondly  caressed  his  grey  head,  and  cooed  and 
lamented  over  him,  with  the  irreverent  tenderness 
he  liked  her  to  use  with  him.  "  Poor  old  fellow," 
she  murmured.  "  It 's  too  bad  !  You  're  working 
yourself  to  death,  and  I  'm  going  to  stay  with  you 
now,  and  put  a  stop  to  your  being  brought  home  by 
policemen.  Why,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed,  break 
ing  down  in  this  way,  as  soon  as  my  back  is  turned ! 
Has  Margaret  done  everything  for  you  1  Wouldn't 
you  like  a  little  light  V  She  started  briskly  to  her 
feet,  flung  up  the  long  window,  and  raising  and 
lowering  the  shade  to  get  the  right  level  for  her 
father's  eyes,  stood  silhouetted  against  the  green 
space  without  :  a  grass  plot  between  high  brick  walls, 
on  one  of  which  clambered  a  grape-vine,  and  on  the 
other  a  wisteria,  while  a  bed  of  bright-leafed  plants 
gave  its  colour  in  the  centre  of  the  yard.  "  There  !" 
she  said,  with  a  glance  at  this  succinct  landscape. 
"  That 's  the  prettiest  bit  of  nature  I  Ve  seen  since  I 
left  Boston. "  She  came  back  and  sat  down  on  a  low 


chair  beside  her  father,  who  smiled  fondly  upon  her, 
and  took  one  of  her  hands  to  hold,  while  she  pushed 
back  his  hair  with  the  other. 

"  Are  you  awfully  glad  to  see  me  ?" 

"Awfully,"  said  Mr.  Harkness,  falling  in  with  her 
mood,  and  brightening  with  the  light  and  her  pre 
sence.  "  What  brought  you  so  suddenly  ? " 

"  Oh,  that 's  a  long  story.  Are  you  feeling  better, 
now?" 

"  Yes.  I  was  merely  faint.  I  shall  be  all  right 
by  morning.  I  Ve  been  a  little  worn  out. " 

"  Was  it  like  the  last  time  1 "  asked  Helen. 

"  Yes,"  said  her  father. 

"A  little  more  like  f 

"  I  don't  think  it  was  more  severe,"  said  Mr.  Hark 
ness,  thoughtfully. 

"What  had  you  been  doing?  Honour  bright, 
now  :  was  it  accounts  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  was  accounts,  my  dear." 

"The  same  old  wretches  ?" 

"  The  same  old  ones  ;  some  new  ones,  too.  They  're 
in  hopeless  confusion,"  sighed  Mr.  Harkness,  who 
seemed  to  age  and  sadden  with  the  thought. 

"  Well,  now,  I  '11  tell  you  what,  papa,"  said  Helen, 
sternly  :  "  I  want  you  to  leave  all  accounts,  old  and 
new,  quite  alone  till  the  cold  weather  comes.  Will 
you  promise  1 " 

Harkness  smiled,  as  wearily  as  he  had  sighed.  He 
knew  that  she  was  burlesquing  somewhat  her  ignor 
ance  of  affairs  ;  and  yet  it  was  not  much  burlesqued, 
after  all ;  for  her  life,  like  that  of  other  American 


8  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

girls  of  prosperous  parentage,  had  been  almost  as 
much  set  apart  from  the  hard  realities  of  bread-win 
ning  as  the  life  of  a  princess,  as  entirely  dedicated  to 
society,  to  the  studies  that  refine,  and  the  accom 
plishments  that  grace  society.  The  question  of 
money  had  hardly  entered  into  it.  Since  she  was  a 
little  child,  and  used  to  climb  upon  her  father's  knee, 
and  ask  him,  in  order  to  fix  his  status  in  her  fairy 
tales,  whether  he  was  rich  or  poor,  she  might  be  said 
never  to  have  fairly  thought  of  that  matter.  Of 
course,  she  understood  that  she  was  not  so  rich  as 
some  girls,  but  she  had  never  found  that  the  differ 
ence  was  against  her  in  society ;  she  could  not  help 
perceiving  that  in  regard  to  certain  of  them  it  was 
in  her  favour,  and  that  she  might  have  patronised 
them  if  she  had  liked,  and  that  they  were  glad  of 
her  friendship  on  any  terms.  Her  father's  great 
losses  had  come  when  she  was  too  young  to  see  the 
difference  that  they  made  in  his  way  of  living ;  ever 
since  she  could  remember  they  had  kept  to  the  same 
scale  of  simple  ease  in  the  house  where  she  was  born, 
and  she  had  known  no  wish  that  there  had  not  been 
money  enough  to  gratify.  Pleasures  of  every  kind 
had  always  come  to  her  as  freely  and  with  as  little 
wonder  on  her  part  as  if  they  had  been,  like  her 
youth,  her  bounding  health,  her  beauty,  the  direct 
gift  of  heaven.  She  knew  that  the.  money  came  from 
her  father's  business,  but  she  had  never  really  asked 
herself  how  it  was  earned.  It  is  doubtful  if  she 
could  have  told  what  his  business  was ;  it  was  the 
India  trade,  whatever  that  was,  and  of  late  years  he 


A  WOMAN'S   REASON.  9 

had  seemed  to  be  more  worried  by  it  than  he  used  to 
be,  and  she  had  vaguely  taken  this  ill,  as  an  ungrateful 
return  on  the  part  of  business.  Once  he  had  gone 
so  far  as  to  tell  her  that  he  had  been  hurt  by  the 
Great  Fire  somewhat.  But  the  money  for  all  her 
needs  and  luxuries  (she  was  not  extravagant,  and 
really  did  not  spend  much  upon  herself)  had  come 
as  before,  and  walking  through  the  burnt  district, 
and  seeing  how  handsomely  it  had  been  rebuilt,  she 
had  a  comforting  sense  that  its  losses  had  all  been 
repaired. 

"  You  look  a  little  flushed  and  excited,  my  dear," 
said  her  father,  in  evasion  of  the  commands  laid 
upon  him,  and  he  touched  her  fair  cheek.  He  was 
very  fond  of  her  beauty  and  of  her  style;  in  the 
earlier  days  of  her  young  ladyhood,  he  used  to  go 
about  with  her  a  great  deal,  and  was  angry  when  he 
thought  she  did  not  get  all  the  notice  she  ought, 
and  a  little  jealous  when  she  did. 

"  Yes,  I  am  flushed  and  excited,  papa,"  she  owned, 
throwing  herself  back  in  the  low  chair  she  had  pulled 
up  to  his  sofa,  and  beginning  to  pluck  nervously  at 
those  "fcttle  tufts  of  silk  that  roughened  the  cob 
webby  fabric  of  the  grey  summer  stuff  she  •  wore. 
"  Don't  you  think,"  she  asked,  lifting  her  downcast 
eyes,  "that  coming  home  and  finding  you  in  this 
state  is  enough  to  make  me  look  flushed  and  ex 
cited  r 

"Not  quite,"  said  her  father  quietly.  "It's  not 
a  new  thing." 

Helen    gave    a    sort  of    lamentable   laugh.     "  I 


10  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

know  I  was  humbugging,  and  I  'm  as  selfish  as  I 
can  be,  to  think  more  of  myself  even  now  than  I  do 
of  you.  But,  oh  papa  !  I  'm  so  unhappy  !"  She 
looked  at  him  through  a  mist  that  gathered  and  fell 
in  silent  drops  from  her  eyes  without  clearing  them, 
so  that  she  did  not  see  him  carry  the  hand  she  had 
abandoned  to  his  heart,  and  check  a  gasp.  "I 
suppose  we  all  have  our  accounts,  one  way  or  other, 
and  they  get  confused  like  yours.  Mine  with— 
with — a  certain  person,  had  got  so  mixed  up  that 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  just  to  throw  them 
away." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  have  broken  with  him 
finally,  Helen  1 "  asked  her  father  gravely. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  call  it  finally"  said 
Helen,  "  but  I  told  him  it  was  no  use — not  just  in 
those  words — and  that  he  ought  to  forget  me;  and 
I  was  afraid  I  wasn't  equal  to  it ;  and  that  I  couldn't 
see  my  way  to  it  clearly;  and  unless  I  could  see 
my  way  clearly,  I  oughtn't  to  go  on  any  longer. 
I  wrote  to  him  last  week,  and  I  thought — I  thought 
that  perhaps  he  wouldn't  answer  it;  perhaps  he 
would  come  over  to  Rye  Beach — he  could  easily 
have  run  over  from  Portsmouth — to  see  me — about  it. 
But  he  didn't — he  didn't — he — wrote  a  very  short 
letter — .  Oh,  I  didn't  see  how  he  could  write  such  a 
letter ;  I  tried  to  spare  him  in  every  way ;  and 
yesterday  he — he — s — s — sailed  ! "  Here  the  storm 
broke,  and  Helen  bowed  herself  to  the  sobs  with 
which  her  slimness  shook,  like  a  tall  flower  beaten 
in  the  wind.  Then  she  suddenly  stopped,  and  ran 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  1 1 

her  hand  into  her  pocket,  and  pulled  out  her  hand 
kerchief.  She  wiped  away  her  tears,  and  waited  for 
her  father  to  speak ;  but  he  lay  silent,  and  merely 
regarded  her  pitifully.  "I  couldn't  bear  it  any 
longer  there  with  those  geese  of  Merrills — I  'm  sure 
they  were  as  kind  as  could  be — and  so  I  came  home 
to  burden  and  afflict  you,  papa.  Don't  you  think 
that  was  like  me  ?"  She  gave  her  lamentable  laugh 
again,  sobbed,  laughed  once  more,  dried  the  fresh 
tears  with  her  handkerchief,  which  she  had  mechani 
cally  shaped  into  a  rabbit,  and  sat  plucking  at  her 
dress  as  before.  "What  do  people  do,  papa,"  she 
asked  presently,  with  a  certain  hoarseness  in  her 
voice,  "when  they've  thrown  away  their  accounts?" 

"I  never  heard  of  their  doing  it,  my  dear,"  said 
her  father. 

"  Well,  but  when  they  've  come  to  the  very  end  of 
everything,  and  there's  nothing  to  go  on  with,  and 
they  might  as  well  stop  1 " 

"  They  go  into  bankruptcy,"  answered  the  old 
man,  absently,  as  if  the  thought  had  often  been  in 
his  mind  before. 

"  Well,  that 's  what  I  Ve  gone  into — bankruptcy," 
said  Helen.  "  And  what  do  they  do  after  they  've 
gone  into  bankruptcy  T' 

"  They  begin  the  world  again  with  nothing,  if  they 
have  the  heart,"  replied  her  father. 

"  That 's  what  I  have  to  do  then — begin  the  world 
again  with  nothing  !  There  !  my  course  is  clear,  and 
I  hope  I  like  it,  and  I  hope  I  'm  satisfied  !" 

With   these  words  of   self-reproach,  Helen  again 


12  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

broke  down,  and  bowed  herself  over  the  ruin  she 
had  made  of  her  life. 

"  I  don't  think  you  need  despair,"  said  her  father, 
soothingly,  yet  with  a  sort  of  physical  effort  which 
escaped  her  self-centred  grief.  "Robert  is  such  a 
good  fellow  that  if  you  wrote  to  him— 

"  Why,  papa  !  Are  you  crazy  ?"  shouted  the  young 
girl.  "  Write  to  him  1  He 's  off  for  three  years,  and 
I  don't  think  he  'd  come  posting  back  from  China,  if 
I  did  write  to  him.  And  how  could  I  write  to  hinij 
even  if  he  were  in  the  next  room  ? " 

"It  wouldn't  be  necessary,  in  that  case,"  said  her 
father.  "  I  'm  sorry  he  's  gone  for  so  long,"  he  added, 
rather  absently. 

"  If  he  were  gone  for  a  day,  it  couldn't  make  any 
difference,"  cried  Helen,  inexorably.  "  I  argued  it  all 
out, — and  it 's  a  perfect  chain  of  logic— before  I  wrote 
to  him.  I  looked  at  it  in  this  way.  I  said  to  myself 
that  it  was  no  use  having  the  affair  off  and  on,  any 
longer.  It  would  be  perfect  misery  to  a  person  of 
my  temperament  to  be  an  officer's  wife,  and  have  my 
husband  with  me  to-day  and  at  the  ends  of  the  earth 
to-morrow.  Besides,  his  pay  wouldn't  support  us. 
You  told  me  that  yourself,  papa." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Harkness.  "But  I  thought 
Robert  might  leave  the  navy,  and — " 

"I  never  would  have  let  him!"  Helen  burst  in. 
"  He  would  have  been  as  unhappy  as  a  fish  out  of 
water,  and  I  wouldn't  have  his*  wretchedness  on  my 
conscience,  and  his  idleness — you  know  how  long  that 
splendid  Captain  Seymour  was  trying  to  get  into 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  13 

business  in  Boston,  after  he  left  the  service  :  and 
then  he  had  to  go  to  California  before  he  could  find 
anything  to  do ;  and  do  you  suppose  I  was  going  to 
have  Robert  mooning  round  in  that  way,  for  ages  ? " 

"  He  might  have  gone  into  business  with  me  for  the 
time  being,"  said  Mr.  Harkness,  not  very  hopefully. 

"Oh  yes!  you  could  have  made  a,  place  for  him, 
I  know  !  And  we  should  both  have  been  a  burden 
to  you,  then.  But  I  shouldn't  have  cared  for  all  that. 
I  would  have  met  any  fate  with  Robert,  if  I  had 
believed  that  I  felt  toward  him  just  as  I  should.  But, 
don't  you  see,  papa  ?  If  I  had  felt  towards  him  in 
that  way,  I  never  should  have  thought  of  any — any 
— prudential  considerations.  That  was  what  con 
vinced  me,  that  was  what  I  couldn't  escape  from, 
turn  which  way  I  would.  That  was  the  point  I  put 
to  Robert  himself,  and — and — oh,  I  don't  see  how 
he  could  answer  as  he  did  !  I  don't  see  how  he  could  !" 
Helen  convulsively  clutched  something  in  the  hand 
which  she  had  thrust  into  her  pocket.  "  It  isn't  that 
I  care  for  myself;  but  oh,  I  am  so  sorry  for  him, 
away  off  there  all  alone,  feeling  so  hard  and  bitter 
towards  me,  and  thinking  me  heartless,  and  I  don't, 
know  what  all, — and  hating  me  so." 

"What  did  he  say,  Helen?"  asked  her  father, 
tenderly.  She  snatched  her  hand  from  her  pocket 
and  laid  a  paper,  crumpled,  bewept,  distained,  in  the 
hand  he  stretched  towards  her,  and  then  bowed  her 
face  upon  her  knees. 

Helen  and  her  father  were  old  confidants,  and  she 
had  not  more  reluctance  in  showing  him  this  letter 


14  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

than  most  girls  would  have  had  in  trusting  such  a 
paper  to  their  mother's  eyes.  Her  own  mother  had 
died  long  ago,  and  in  the  comradeship  of  her  young 
life  her  father  had  entered  upon  a  second  youth, 
happier,  or  at  least  tranquiller,  than  the  first.  She 
adored  him  and  petted  him,  as  a  wife  could  not,  and 
this  worship  did  not  spoil  him  as  it  might  if  it 
had  been  a  conjugal  devotion.  They  had  always  a 
perfect  understanding ;  she  had  not  withdrawn  her 
childish  intimacy  of  thought  and  feeling  from  him 
to  give  it  to  her  mother,  as  she  would  have  done  if 
her  mother  had  lived ;  he  knew  all  her  small  heart 
affairs  without  asking,  more  or  less  in  a  tacit  way ; 
and  she  had  an  abidingly  grateful  sense  of  his 
wisdom  in  keeping  her  from  follies  which  she  could 
see  she  had  escaped  through  it.  He  had  never 
before  so  directly  sought  to  know  her  trouble ;  but 
he  had  never  before  seen  her  in  so  much  trouble ; 
besides,  he  had  always  been  Robert  Fenton's  friend 
at  court  with  Helen ;  and  he  had  quietly  kept  his 
hopes  of  their  future  through  rather  a  stormy  and 
uncertain  present. 

He  liked  Robert  for  the  sake  of  Robert's  father, 
who  had  been  captain  and  supercargo  of  one  of 
Harkness  and  Co.'s  ships,  and  had  gone  down  in  her 
on  her  home  voyage  when  he  was  returning  to  be 
junior  partner  in  the  house,  after  a  prosperous 
venture  of  his  own  in  Wenham  ice.  He  left  this 
boy,  and  a  young  wife  who  died  soon  afterwards. 
Then  Mr.  Harkness,  who  was  the  boy's  guardian, 
gave  him  and  the  small  property  that  remained  to 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  15 

him  more  than  a  guardian's  care.  He  sent  him  to 
school,  but  he  made  him  at  home  in  his  own  house 
on  all  holidays  and  in  vacation.  These  sojourns 
and  absences,  beginning  when  Robert  was  ten  years 
old,  and  continuing  through  his  school-boy  age,  had 
renewed  alternately  his  intimacy  and  strangeness 
with  Helen,  and  kept  her  a  mystery  and  enchant 
ment  which  grew  with  his  growth,  while  to  her 
consciousness  he  was  simply  Robert,  a  nice  boy,  who 
was  now  at  school,  or  now  at  home,  and  who  was 
often  so  shy  that  it  was  perfectly  silly.  When  he 
was  old  enough  to  be  placed  in  some  career  he  was 
allowed  to  choose  Harvard  and  a  profession  after 
wards,  or  any  more  technical  training  that  he  liked 
better.  He  chose  neither :  the  sea  called  him,  as 
the  old  superstition  is,  and  every  nerve  in  his  body 
responded.  He  would  have  liked  to  go  into  the 
trade  in  which  his  father  had  died,  but  here  his 
guardian  overruled  him.  He  knew  that  the  India 
trade  was  dying  out.  If  Robert's  soul  was  set  upon ; 
the  sea,  of  which  there  seemed  no  doubt,  it  was 
better  that  he  should  go  into  the  navy ;  at  Annapolis 
he  would  have  a  thorough  schooling,  which  would 
stand  him  in  good  stead,  if  future  chance  or  choice 
ever  cast  him  ashore  to  live. 

Helen  was  in  the  sophomore  year  of  the  class 
with  which  she  was  dancing  through  Harvard  when 
Robert  came  home  from  his  first  cruise.  She  was 
then  a  very  great  lady,  and  she  patronised  the  mid 
shipman  with  killing  kindness  as  a  younger  brother, 
though  he  was  in  fact  half  a  year  her  senior.  He 


16  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

now  fell  in  love  with  her  outright :  very  proud  love, 
very  jealous,  very  impatient.  She  could  not  under 
stand  it.  She  said  to  her  father  it  was  so  queer. 
She  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  Why,  Robert ! 
It  was  absurd.  Besides,  he  had  such  a  funny  name ; 
K  Fenton !  But  a  passion  like  his  was  not  to  be 

-  quenched  with  reasons  even  so  good  as  these.     He 
went   to   sea  again,  bitterly,   rapturously  brooding 

-  over  her  idea,  and  came  home  in  the  autumn  after 
Helen's   class-day.      All  the  fellows   had   scattered 
now ;  and  she  was  left  much  younger  and  humbler 
in  her  feelings,  and  not  so  great  a  lady  for  all  her 
triumphs.     Two  of  her  class  had  proposed  to  her, 

-  and  lots  had  come  near  it ;  but  her  heart  had  been 
left  untouched,  and  she  perceived,  or  thought  she 
perceived,  that  these  young  gentlemen,  who  were 
wise  and  mature  enough  for  their  age,  though  neither 
Solomons  nor  Methuselahs,  were  all  silly  boys.     In 
herself,  on  the  contrary,  the  tumult  of  feeling  with 
which  she  had  first    entered    the  world  had  been 
succeeded  by  a  calm,   which  she  might  well  have 
mistaken  for  wisdom.     She  felt  that  she  now  knew 
the  world  thoroughly,  and  while   she  was  resolved 
to  judge  it  kindly,  she  was  not  going  to  be  dazzled 
by  it  any  longer.     She  had  become  an  observer  of 

-  human  nature  ;  she  analysed  her  feelings ;  sometimes 
she  made  cutting  remarks  to  people,  and  was  dread 
fully  sorry  for  it.     She  withdrew  a  great  deal  from 
society,   and    liked   being   thought  odd.      She   had 
begun  to  take  lessons  in  painting  with  a  number  of 
ladies   under   an    artist's   criticism ;    she    took    up 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  17 

cmirses  of  reading;  she  felt  that  life  was  a  serious 
affair.  On  his  return,  Robert  at  first  seemed  to 
her  more  boyish,  more  brotherly  than  before.  But 
in  talking  with  him  certain  facts  of  his  history 
came  out  that  showed  him  a  very  brave  and  manly 
fellow,  and  good,  too.  This  gave  her  pause;  so 
keen  an  observer  of  human  nature  at  once  dis 
cerned  in  this  young  man,  who  did  not  brag  of  his 
experiences,  nor  yet  affect  to  despise  them  as  trifles, 
but  honestly  owned  that  at  one  time  he  was  scared, 
and  that  at  another  he  would  have  given  everything 
to  be  ashore,  an  object  worthy  of  her  closest  and 
most  reverent  study.  She  proceeded  to  idealise 
him,  and  to  stand  in  awe  of  him.  Oh  yes  !  with  a 
deep  sighing  breath,  and  a  long  dreamy  look  at  him 
— he!  What  he  had  been  through  must  have 
changed  the  whole  world  to  him.  After  that  night 
in  the  typhoon — well,  nothing  could  ever  have  been 
the  same  to  her  after  that.  He  must  find  all  the 
interests  at  home  sickeningly  mean.  This  was  the 
tone  she  took  with  him,  driving  him  to  despair. 
When  he  again  urged  his  suit,  she  said  that  she 
could  not  see  why  he  should  care  for  her.  At  the 
same  time  she  wanted  to  ask  him  why  he  did  not 
wear  his  uniform  ashore,  instead  of  that  unnatural 
civil  dress  that  he  seemed  so  anxious  to  make  him 
self  ridiculous  in.  Being  pressed  for  some  sort  of 
answer,  she  said  that  she  had  resolved  never  to 
marry.  After  this  Robert  went  off  very  melan 
choly  upon  his  third  cruise.  But  she  wrote  him 
such  kind  and  sympathetic  letters  that  he  came 
E 


18  A  WOMAN'S   REASON. 

home  from  this  cruise,  which  was  a  short  one,  more 
fondly  in  love  than  ever,  but  more  patiently,  more 
pleasingly  in  love  ;  and  he  now  behaved  so  sensibly, 
with  so  much  apparent  consideration  for  her  uncer 
tainty  of  mind,  that  she  began  to  think  seriously  of 
him.  But  though  she  liked  him  ever  so  much,  and 
respected  him  beyond  anything,  the  very  fact  that 
she  was  wondering  whether  she  could  ask  him  to 
leave  the  navy  or  not,  and  where  and  how  they 
should  live,  seemed  sufficient  proof  to  her  that  she 
did  not  care  for  him  in  the  right  way.  Love,  she 
knew,  did  not  consider  ways  and  means ;  it  did  not 
stop  to  argue ;  it  found  in  itself  its  own  reason  and 
the  assurance  of  a  future.  It  did  not  come  after 
years  of  shilly-shallying,  and  beating  about  the  bush, 
and  weighing  this  and  that,  and  scrutiny  of  one's 
emotions.  If  she  loved  Robert  so  little  as  to  care 
what  happened  after  they  were  married,  she  did 
not  love  him  at  all.  Something  like  this,  but 
expressed  with  infinite  kindness  was  what  she  had 
written  from  Rye  Beach  to  Robert  stationed  at 
Portsmouth.  She  ended  by  leaving  the  case  in  his 
hands.  She  forbade  him  to  hope,  but  she  told  him 
that  there  had  been  a  time,  a  moment,  when  she 
thought  that  she  might  have  loved  him. 

Robert  took  all  this  awry.  He  did  not  deign  to 
ask  her  when  this  mysterious  moment  was,  far  less 
whether  it  might  ever  recur ;  he  did  not  answer  one 
of  her  arguments  ;  he  did  not  even  come  over  to 
Rye  Beach  to  combat  and  trample  on  her  reasons. 
He  wrote  her  a  furious,  foolish  reply,  in  which  he 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  19 

agreed  with  her  that  she  had  never  loved  him,  and 
never  would,  and  he  bade  her  farewell.  He  managed 
to  exchange  with  a  friend  who  was  bemoaning  his 
hard  lot  in  being  ordered  away  from  his  young  wife 
to  the  China  station,  and  he  sailed  with  their  blessing 
three  days  after  getting  Helen's  letter.  She  only 
learned  of  his  departure  by  chance. 

The  old  man  held  the  letter  in  his  hand,  after 
reading  it,  for  so  long  a  time,  that  at  last  Helen 
looked  up.  "  It  seems  to  me  you  take  it  pretty 
coolly,  papa,"  she  said,  her  lips  quivering. 

"  Yes,  yes.  Poor  Eobert  !  poor  boy  !"  sighed  her 
father.  Then  while  she  bridled  indignantly  at  his 
misplaced  compassion,  he  added,  "  I  'm  sorry,  Helen. 
I  think  you  would  have  come  to  like  him.  Well, 
well !  If  you  are  contented,  my  dear — 

"  How  can  you  say  such  a  thing,  papaV'  cried 
Helen,  astonished  that  he  should  have  taken  what 
he  understood  of  her  letter  just  as  Kobert  had  done, 
"  when  you  know, — when  you  know  I — "  but  Helen 
could  not  finish  what  she  was  going  to  say.  She 
could  not  own  that  she  thought  her  letter  susceptible 
of  quite  a  different  answer.  She  set  her  lips  and  | 
tried  to  stop  their  trembling,  while  her  eyes  filled. 

Her  father  did  not  notice.  "  My  dear,"  he  said 
presently,  "  will  you  ask  Margaret  to  make  me  a  cup 
of  tea?  I  feel  unpleasantly  weak." 

"Why,  papa!"  cried  Helen,  flying  to  the  bell, 
"  why  didn't  you  tell  me  before,  instead  of  letting 
me  worry  you  with  all  this  foolishness  1  why  didn't 
you  say  you  were  not  so  well  1 " 


20  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  it,"  said  her  father,  meekly 
accepting  her  reproof.  "  It 's  nothing.  The  wind 
has  changed,  hasn't  it?  I  feel  the  east  a  little." 

"You're  chilly?"  Helen  was  now  tempted  to  be 
really  harsh  with  him  for  his  remissness,  but  she  did 
not  stay  from  running  after  the  wrap,  soft  and  light, 
which  she  had  brought  back  from  the  sea-side  with 
her,  and  had  thrown  down  with  her  bag  in  the  hall, 
and  though  she  bemoaned  his  thoughtlessness,  as  she 
flung  it  over  him,  still  she  did  not  pour  out  upon 
-  him .  all  the  self-reproach  in  her  heart.  She  went 
and  hurried  Margaret  with  the  tea,  and  then  set  an 
old-fashioned  tea-poy  beside  the  sofa,  and  when  the 
tea  came,  she  drew  up  her  chair,  and  poured  it 
for  him.  She  offered  to  pull  down  the  window,  but 
he  made  her  a  sign  to  let  it  be ;  and  in  fact,  it  was 
not  cooler  without  than  within,  and  no  chill  came 
from  the  little  yard,  on  whose  lofty  walls  the  sunset 
was  beginning  to  burn  in  tender  red  light.  She 
poured  herself  a  cup  of  tea  when  she  came  back, 
and  when  she  had  made  her  father  repeat  again  and 
again  that  he  felt  much  better,  she  began  to  see  the 
absurdity  of  being  tragic  about  Robert  at  this  late 
day,  when  she  had  so  often  refused  him  before 
without  the  least  tragedy.  This,  to  be  sure,  was 
not  quite  like  the  other  refusals ;  not  so  one-sided ; 
but  really,  except  for  Robert's  own  sake,  what  had 
she  to  be  sorry  for,  and  why  should  she  pity  his 
I  towering  dudgeon  1  An  ache,  faint  and  dull,  made 
itself  felt  deep  in  her  heart,  and  she  answered  sadly, 
"  Well,"  to  her  father's  tentative  "  Helen." 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  21 

He  did  not  go  on,  and  she  asked  presently,  "  What 
is  it,  papa  1 " 

"  Oh,  nothing.  There  was  something  I  was  going 
to  speak  to  you  about.  But  it  will  do  another  time." 
Helen  recollected  that  once  or  twice  before  this  her 
father  had  begun  in  the  same  way,  and  postponed 
whatever  he  had  been  going  to  say  in  the  same  fashion. 
It  was  not  a  thing  to  be  curious  about,  and  she  had 
never  pressed  him  to  speak.  She  knew  that  he 
would  speak  when  he  really  thought  best.  But  she 
wondered  now  a  little  if  his  mind  were  still  running 
upon  Robert. 

"  Was  it  something  in  regard  to — to — me,  papa  T' 

"Why,  yes.     Yes ;  indirectly." 

"  Well,  then,  don't  think  of  it  any  more.  I  shall 
not.  I'm  sorry  I  worried  you  about  it." 

"About  what,  my  dear?"  asked  her  father,  who 
could  not  have  followed  her. 

"  Eobert !"  said  Helen,  abruptly. 

"  Oh  !     I  wasn't  thinking  about  Robert." 

"Because,  if  you  were,  papa,  I  want  to  tell  you 
that  I  am  quite  reconciled  to  have  everything  end  as 
it  has  done.  Robert  and  I  will  always  be  good  friends. 
You  needn't  be  troubled  about  that." 

"Oh  yes,  certainly,"  assented  her  father,  closing 
his  eyes. 

Helen  sat  looking  at  him,  as  if  she  would  like  to 
go  on.  But  she  was  a  little  ashamed,  and  a  little 
piqued  that  her  father  should  shut  his  eyes  in  that 
way  while  she  was  talking  of  Robert.  He  had  taken 
tlie  whole  affair  rather  oddly.  She  had  been  prepared 


22  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

to  defend  Robert  if  her  father  were  angry  with  him, 
as  she  expected  ;  but  instead  of  being  angry,  he  had 
really  seemed  to  side  with  Robert,  and  had  somehow, 
by  his  reticence,  implied  that  he  would  have  been 
glad  to  have  her  humble  herself  to  Robert. 

"If  you  wish  to  sleep,  papa,"  she  said  with  a 
dignity  wasted  upon  him,  for  he  still  lay  with  his 
eyes  closed,  "  I  will  go  away." 

"  I  'in  drowsy,"  said  her  father.  "  But  don't  go, 
Helen.  Sit  down  here." 

He  made  a  motion  for  her  to  sit  beside  him, and  after 
an  instant's  further  resentment  she  drew  up  her  chair, 
and  laid  her  beautiful  head  down  upon  the  cushion  by 
his.  She  gave  him  a  kiss,  and  dropped  a  large  tear 
against  his  withered  cheek,  and  wiped  it  away  with 
her  handkerchief,  and  then  she  hid  her  face  again,  and 
wept  peacefully  till  all  her  tears  were  gone.  At  last 
she  lifted  her  face,  and  dried  her  eyes,  and  sat 
dreamily  watching  the  red  sunset  light  creeping  up  the 
wall  on  which  the  wisteria  clambered.  It  rose  slowly, 
leaf  by  leaf,  till  it  lit  an  airy  frond  at  top,  that  swayed 
in  it  like  a  pennon.  Suddenly  it  leaped  from  this  and 
left  it  dark,  and  a  shiver  coursed  through  the  next 
rank  of  foliage.  It  somehow  made  her  think  of  a  ship 
going  down  below  the  horizon,  and  the  waves  running 
along  the  sky  where  the  streamers  had  just  hung. 
But  Robert  must  have  been  out  of  sight  of  land  for 
two  days  and  more  before  that. 


II. 


HELEN  sat  beside  her  father,  while  the  solitude  of 
the  house  deepened  from  silence  to  silence.  Then 
Margaret  came  to  the  door,  and  looked  in  as  if  to 
ask  whether  it  was  not  time  for  her  to  fetch  away 
the  tea-things.  Helen  gave  her  a  nod  of  acquiescence, 
and  presently  rose,  and  followed  her  out  to  the  kitchen, 
to  tell  her  that  she  was  going  to  her  own  room,  and 
to  say  that  she  must  be  called  when  her  father  woke. 
But  in  the  kitchen  Margaret's  company  was  a  temp;- 
tation  to  her  loneliness,  and  she  made  one  little 
pretext  after  another  for  remaining,  till  Margaret 
set  her  a  chair  in  the  doorway,  Margaret  had  been 
in  the  house  ever  since  Helen  was  born,  and  Helen 
still  used  the  same  freedom  with  her  that  she  had 
in  childhood,  and  gave  herself  the  range  of  places  to 
which  young  ladyhood  ordinarily  denies  its  radiant 
presence.  She  had  indeed  as  much  intimacy  with 
the  cook  as  could  consist  with  their  different  ages,  and 
she  got  on  smoothly  with  the  cook's  temper,  which 
had  not  been  so  good  as  her  looks  in  youth,  and  had 
improved  quite  as  little  with  age.  Margaret  was  of 
a  remote  sort  of  Irish  birth ;  but  her  native  land 
had  scarcely  marked  her  accent,  and  but  for  her 


24  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

church  and  her  sense  of  place,  which  was  sometimes 
very  respectful  and  sometimes  very  high  and  mighty 
with  those  above  her,  she  might  have  been  mistaken 
for  an  American  ;  she  had  a  low  voice  which  only 
grew  lower  as  she  grew  angry.  A  family  in  which 
she  could  do  all  the  work  had  been  her  ideal  when 
she  first  came  to  Boston,  but  she  had  failed  of  this 
now  for  some  thirty  years,  and  there  seemed  little 
hope  that  the  chances  would  still  turn  in  her  favour. 
In  Helen's  childhood,  when  she  used  to  ask  Margaret 
in  moments  of  tenderness,  following  the  gift  of  dough 
in  unexpected  quantity,  whether  she  would  come 
and  live  with  her  after  she  got  married,  Margaret 
had  always  answered,  "  Yes,  if  you  won't  have  any 
one  else  bothering  round,"  which  was  commonly  too 
much  for  the  just  pride  of  the  actual  second-girl. 
She  had  been  cook  in  the  family  so  long  ago  as  when 
Mr.  Harkness  had  kept  a  man ;  she  had  pressed 
upon  the  retreat  of  the  last  man  with  a  broom  in  her 
hand  and  a  joyful  sarcasm  on  her  lips ;  and  she 
would  willingly  have  kept  vacant  the  place  that  she 
had  made  too  hot  for  a  long  succession  of  second- 
girls.  In  the  intervals  of  their  going  and  coming, 
she  realised  her  ideal  of  domestic  service  for  the 
time  being ;  and  in  the  summer  when  Helen  was 
away  a  good  deal,  she  prolonged  these  intervals  to 
the  utmost.  -  She  was  necessarily  much  more  the 
housekeeper  than  Helen,  though  they  both  respected 
a  fiction  of  contrary  effect,  and  Helen  commonly 
left  her  the  choice  of  her  helpers.  She  had  not  been 
surprised  to  find  Margaret  alone  in  the  house,  but 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  25 

she  thought  it  well  to  ask  her  how  she  was  getting 
on  without  anybody. 

"  Oh,  very  well,  Miss  Helen !  You  know  your 
father  don't  make  any  trouble." 

"  Well,  I  Ve  come  now,  and  we  must  get  somebody," 
said  Helen. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  was  going  back  on  Monday, 
Miss  Helen,"  answered  Margaret. 

"  No,  I  shall  not  leave  papa.  I  think  he 's  not  at 
all  well." 

"He  does  seem  rather  poorly,  Miss  Helen.  But  I 
don't  see  why  you  need  any  one,  in  the  summer,  this 
way." 

"Who's  to  go  to  the  door1?"  asked  Helen. 
"Besides,  you  couldn't  take  care  of  both  of  us, 
Margaret." 

"Just  as  you  say,  Miss  Helen;  I'd  just  as  lives," 
answered  Margaret,  stubbornly.  "  It  isn't  for  me  to 
say  ;  but  I  don't  see  what  you  want  with  anybody  : 
you  won't  see  a  soul." 

"  0,  you  never  can  tell,  Margaret.  You  Ve  had  a 
good  rest  now,  and  you  must  have  somebody  to  help 
you."  Helen's  sadness  smiled  at  this  confusion  of 
ideas,  and  its  suitableness  to  Margaret's  peculiar 
attitude.  "  Get  somebody  that  you  know,  Margaret, 
and  that  you'll  like.  But  we  must  have  somebody." 
She  regarded  Margaret's  silent  and  stiff  displeasure 
with  a  moment's  amusement,  and  then  her  bright 
face  clouded ;  and  she  asked  softly  :  "  Did  you  know, 
Margaret,  that  Eobert, — that  Lieutenant  Teuton — 
had  sailed  again  1 " 


26  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  Why,  no,  Miss  Helen  !  You  don't  mean  that  1 
Why,  I  thought  he  was  going  to  stay  the  summer  at 
Portsmouth." 

"  He  was,"  said  Helen,  in  the  same  low  voice, 
"  but  he  changed  his  mind,  it  seems." 

"  Sailors  is  a  roving  set,  anyway,"  Margaret 
generalised.  Then  she  added  :  "  Did  he  come  down 
to  say  good-bye  to  your  father  T 

"  Why,  no,"  sadly  answered  Helen,  who  now 
thought  of  this  for  the  first  time.  Her  heart 
throbbed  indignantly ;  then  she  reflected  that  she 
had  kept  him  from  coming.  She  looked  up  at  the 
evening  blue,  with  the  swallows  weaving  a  woof  of 
flight  across  the  top  of  the  space  framed  in  by  the 
high  walls  on  every  hand,  and  "  He  hadn't  time,  I 
suppose,"  she  said  sadly.  "  H^  couldn't  get  off." 

"  Well,  I  don't  call  it  very  nice,  his  not  coming," 
persisted  Margaret.  "I'd  'a'  deserted  first."  Her 
associations  with  naval  service  had  been  through 
gallant  fellows  who  were  not  in  a  position  to  resign. 

Helen  smiled  so  ruefully  at  this  that  she  would 
better  for  cheerfulness  have  wept.  But  she  recog 
nised  Margaret's  limitations  as  a  confidant,  and  said 
no  more.  She  rose  presently,  and  again  asked  Mar 
garet  to  look  in  pretty  soon,  and  see  if  her  father 
were  awake,  and  call  her,  if  he  were :  she  was  going 
to  her  room.  She  looked  in  a  moment  herself  as 
as  she  went,  and  listened  till  she  heard  him  breath 
ing,  and  so  passed  on  through  the  drawing-room,  and 
trailed  heavily  up-stairs. 

The  house  was  rather  old-fashioned,  and  it  was 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  27 

not  furnished  in  the  latest  taste,  but  it  made  the 
appeal  with  which  things  out  of  date,  or  passing  out 
of  date,  touch  the  heart.  It  was  in  fact  beginning 
to  be  respectable  because  it  was  no  longer  in  the  con 
test  for  effect,  which  the  decorations  of  the  newer 
houses  carried  on  about  it,  and  there  was  a  sort  of 
ugly  keeping  throughout. 

In  the  very  earliest  days  of  Mr.  Harkness's  house 
keeping,  the  ornamentation  of  his  home  had  reflected 
the  character  of  his  business  somewhat.  There  had- 
been  even  a  time  when  the  young  supercargo  brought 
back — it  was  his  first  voyage — quaint  and  beautiful 
shells  from  the  East,  for  his  wife  to  set  about  the 
tables  and  mantels  ;  but  these  objects,  so  exquisite  in 
themselves,  so  unyielding  in  composition,  had  long 
since  disappeared.  Some  ..grotesque  bronzes,  picked 
up  in  Chinese  ports,  to  which  his  early  ventures  had 
taken  him,  survived  the  expulsion  of  ivory  carvings 
and  Indian  idols  and  genre  statuettes  in  terra  cotta, 
(like  those  you  see  in  the  East  Indian  Museum  at 
Salem)  and  now  found  themselves,  with  the  new 
feeling  for  oriental  art,  in  the  very  latest  taste.  The 
others  were  bestowed  in  neglected  drawers  and 
shelves,  along  with  boxes  containing  a  wealth  of 
ghastly  rich  and  elaborate  white  crape  shawls  from 
China,  and  fantastically  subtle  cotton  webs  from  India 
which  Helen  had  always  thought  she  should  use  in 
tableaux,  and  never  had  worn.  Among  the  many 
pictures  on  the  walls  (there  were  too  many),  there 
were  three  Stuarts,  the  rest  were  of  very  indifferent 
merit;  large  figure  paintings,  or  allegorical  landscapes, 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

after  the  taste  of  Cole  and  Poussin,  in  great  carved 
and  scrolly  frames.  Helen  had  once  thought  of 
making  a  raid  upon  these  enemies  of  art,  and  in  fact 
she  had  contemplated  remodelling  the  whole  equip 
ment  of  the  parlours,  in  conformity  to  the  recent 
feeling  in  such  matters  ;  but  she  had  not  got  further 
than  the  incomplete  representation  of  some  golden- 
rod  and  mullein-stalks  upon  the  panels  of  her  own 
chamber-door ;  and  now  that  the  fervour  of  her  first 
enthusiasm  had  burnt  itself  out,  she  was  not  sorry 
she  had  left  the  old  house  in  peace. 

"  Oh,  I  should  thinlotou  'd  be  so  rejoiced,"  said  the 
chief  of  her  friends  ;  nit 's  such  a  comfort  to  go  into 
one  house  where  you  don  t  have  to  admire  the  artistic 
sentiment,  and  where  every  wretched  little  aesthetic 
prig  of  a  table  or  a  chair  isn  't  asserting  a  principle 
or  teaching  a  lesson.\  Don't  touch  a  cobweb,  Helen ! " 
It  had  never  even  come  to  a  talk  between  her  and 
her  father,  and  the  house  remained  unmolested  the 
home  of  her  childhood.  She  had  not  really  cared 
much  for  it  since  she  was  a  child.  The  sense 
of  our  impermanent  relation  to  the  parental  roof 
comes  to  us  very  early  in  life  ;  and  perhaps  more 
keenly  to  a  young  girl  than  to  her  brothers.  They 
are  of  the  world  by  all  the  conditions  of  their  active, 
positive  being,  almost  from  the  first — a  great  world 
that  is  made  for  them ;  but  she  has  her  world 
to  create.  She  cannot  sit  and  adorn  her  father's 
house,  as  she  shall  one  day  beautify  and  worship  her 
husband's  ;  she  can  indeed  do  her  duty  by  it,  but 
the  restless  longing  remains,  and  her  housewifeliness 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  29 

does  not  voluntarily  blossom  out  beyond  the  precincts 
of  her  own  chamber,  which  she  makes  her  realm  of 
fancy  and  of  dreams.  She  could  not  be  the  heart  off 
the  house  if  she  would,  as  her  mother  is,  or  has 
been ;  and  though  in  her  mother's  place,  she  can  be 
housekeeper,  thrifty,  wise,  and  notable,  still  some 
mysterious  essential  is  wanting  which  it  is  not  in  her 
nature  to  supply  to  her  father's  house. 

Helen  went  to  her  own  room,  and,  flinging  up  the 
windows,  let  in  the  noises  of  the  streets.  A  few  feet 
went  by  in  the  secluded  place,  and  a  sound  of  more 
frequent  trampling  came  from  the  street  into  which 
it  opened.  Further  off  rose  the  blurred  tumult  of 
business,  softened  by  the  stretch  of  the  Common,  and 
growing  less  and  less  with  the  lapse  of  the  long 
summer  day.  It  was  already  a  little  cooler,  and  the 
smell  of  the  sprinkled  street  stole  refreshingly  in  at 
the  window.  It  was  still  very  light,  and  when  Helen 
opened  her  blinds,  the  room  brightened  cheerfully  all 
about  her,  and  the  sympathetic  intimacy  of  her  own  v 
closest  belongings  tenderly  appealed  to  her.  After 
something  has  happened,  and  we  first  see  familiar 
things  about  us  as  they  were,  there  comes,  just  before 
the  sense  of  difference  in  ourselves  returns  to  torment 
us,  a  moment  of  blind  and  foolish  oblivion,  and  this 
was  Helen's  as  she  sat  down  beside  the  window,  and 
looked  round  upon  the  friendly  prettiness  of  her  room. 
It  had  been  her  room  when  she  was  a  child,  and 
there  were  childish  keepsakes  scattered  about  in  odd 
places,  out  of  the  way  of  young-ladyish  luxuries,  high- 
shouldered  bottles  of  perfume,  and  long-handled  ivory 


30  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

brushes,  and  dainty  boxes  and  cases,  and  starred  and 
bevelled  hand-glasses,  and  other  sacred  mysteries  of 
toilet.  Of  the  period  when  she  had  thought  herself 
wedded  to  art  there  were  certain  charcoal  sketches 
pinned  against  the  wall,  and  in  one  corner,  not  very 
definite  at  first  glance  under  the  draperies  tossed  upon 
it  from  time  to  time,  was  her  easel.  On  projections 
of  her  mirror-frame  hung  souvenirs  of  Robert's  first 
cruise,  which  had  been  in  the  Mediterranean  :  ropes  of 
Roman  pearls ;  nets  and  bracelets  and  necklaces  of 
shells  and  beads  from  Venice  ;  filigree  silver  jewellery 
from  Genoa ;  strands  and  rosaries  of  black,  barbari- 
cally  scented  wooden  beads  from  the  Levant :  not 
things  you  could  wear  at  all,  but  very  pleasant  to 
have  ;  they  gave  a  sentiment  to  your  room  when  you 
brought  any  one  into  it ;  they  were  nice  to  have 
lying  about,  and  people  liked  to  take  them  into  their 
hands  :  they  were  not  so  very  uncommon,  either,  that 
you  had  to  keep  telling  what  they  were.  She  had 
never  thought  that  possibly  Robert  had  expected  her 
to  wear  the  absurd  things.  With  an  aching  recurrence 
to  their  quarrel  (it  could  be  called  no  less)  and  a 
penitent  self-pity,  she  thought  of  it  now.  It  did  not 
seem  to  her  that  she  could  touch  them,  but  she  went 
languidly  to  the  mirror  and  took  some  of  them  down, 
and  then  all  at  once  fantastically  began  to  array  her 
self  in  them  :  Hike  a  mad  girl,  she  reflected.  She 
threw  the  loops  of  Roman  pearls  and  the  black  strands 
of  Levantine  beads  about  her  neck  ;  she  set  a  net  of 
the  Venetian  shell-work  on  her  hair,  and  decked  her 
wrists  and  her  lovely  ears  with  the  Genoese  filigree;  a 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  31 

perfectly  frantic  combination,  she  mused,  as  she  shook 
her  head  a  little  to  make  the  ear-bobs  dance.  "  Yes, 
perfectly  frantic,"  she  said  aloud,  but  not  much  think 
ing  of  the  image  confronting  her  from  the  mirror,  * 
thinking  rather  of  Robert,  and  poignantly  regretting 
that  she  had  never  put  them  on  for  him ;  and  think 
ing  that  if  the  loss  of  him  had  made  her  certain  about 
him  too  late  for  ever,  how  fatally  strange  that  would 
be.  Again  she  went  over  all  the  facts  of  the  affair, 
and  was  able  to  make  much  surer  of  Robert's  motives  * 
than  of  her  own.  She  knew  that  if  he  had  under 
stood  her  saying  that  she  might  have  loved  him  once 
to  be  any  encouragement  for  the  future,  he  would  not 
have  written  as  he  did.  She  could  imagine  Robert's 
being  very  angry  at  the  patronising  tone  of  the  rest 
of  her  letter ;  she  had  entire  faith  in  his  stupidity ; 
she  never  doubted  his  generosity,  his  magnanimous 
incapability  of  turning  her  refusal  of  him  into  a  refusal 
of  her ;  his  was  not  the  little  soul  that  could  rejoice  in  x 
such  a  chance.  She  wondered  if  now,  far  out  at  sea, 
sailing,  sailing  away,  three  years  away,  from  her,  he 
saw  anything  in  her  letter  but  refusal  ;  or  was  he  still 
in  that  blind  rage  ]  Did  he  never  once  think  that 
it  had  seemed  such  a  great  thing  for  her  to  make  con 
fession,  which  meant  him  to  come  to  her  1  But  had 
she  really  meant  that?  It  seemed  so  now,  but 
perhaps  then  she  had  only  thought  of  mingling  a 
drop  of  kindness  in  his  bitter  cup,  of  trying  to  spare 
him  the  mortification  of  having  loved  a  person  who 
had  never  thought  for  a  moment  of  loving  him  ] 
From  time  to  time,  her  image  appeared  to  ~-vance 


32  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

upon  her  from  the  depths  of  the  mirror,  decked  in  all 
that  incongruous  frippery,  and  to  say  with  trembling 
lips,  "  Perfectly  frantic,  perfectly  frantic,"  while  the 
tears  ran  down  its  face  ;  and  she  found  a  wild 
comfort  in  regarding  herself  as  quite  an  insane, 
irresponsible  creature,  who  did  not  know  what  she 
was  about.  She  felt  that  fate  ought  not  to  hold  her 
to  account.  The  door-bell  rang,  and  she  snatched 
the  net  from  her  hair  with  a  fearful  shudder,  and 
flung  down  all  the  ornaments  in  a  heap  upon  her 
dressing-table.  Bumping  sounds  in  the  hall  below 
reminded  her  that  in  her  trance  before  the  glass,  she 
had  remotely  known  of  a  wagon  stopping  at  the 
door,  and  presently  she  heard  Margaret  coming  up 
the  stairs  behind  the  panting  express-man  who  was 
fetching  up  her  trunk.  She  fled  into  another  room, 
and  guiltily  lurked  there  till  they  went  out  again, 
before  she  returned  to  unlock  and  unpack  the  box. 
It  was  one  of  Helen's  economies  not  to  drive  home 
from  the  station,  but  to  send  her  baggage  by  express 
and  come  up  in  a  horse-car.  The  sums  thus  saved 
she  devoted  to  a  particular  charity,  and  was  very 
rigid  with  herself  about  spending  every  half-dollar 
coach-fare  for  that  object.  She  only  gave  twenty- 
five  cents  to  the  express,  and  she  made  a  merit  of  the 
fact  that  neither  the  coach-hire  nor  the  charity  ever 
cost  her  father  anything.  Eobert  had  once  tried  to 
prove  that  it  always  cost  him  seventy-five  cents, 
but  she  had  easily  seen  through  the  joke,  and  had 
made  him  confess  it. 

She  was  still  busy  unpacking  when  Margaret  came 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  33 

up  to  say  that  her  father  was  awake  now,  and  then 
she  left  off  at  once  to  go  to  him.  The  gas  had  been 
lighted  in  the  hall  and  library,  arid  that  made  life 
another  thing.  Her  father  was  in  his  arm-chair,  and 
was  feeling  decidedly  better,  he  said  ;  he  had  told 
Margaret  to  have  tea  there  in  the  library.  Helen 
laughed  at  him  for  having  two  teas  within  two 
hours  ;  he  owned  to  being  hungry,  and  that  reminded 
her  that  she  had  eaten  nothing  since  an  early  dinner. 
When  the  tea  and  toast  came  in,  and  the  cloth  was 
laid  half  across  the  round  table,  in  the  mellow  light 
of  the  study  lamp,  they  were  very  cosy.  Helen, 
who  was  always  thinking  of  Robert,  whatever  else 
she  thought  of,  began  to  play  in  fancy  at  a  long  life 
of  devotion  to  her  father,  in  which  she  should  never 
marry.  She  had  always  imagined  him  living  with 
her,  but  now  she  was  living  with  him,  and  they  were 
to  grow  old  together ;  in  twenty  years,  when  he  was 
eighty,  she  would  be  forty-three,  and  then  there 
would  not  be  much  difference  between  them.  She 
now  finally  relinquished  the  very  last  idea  of  Robert, 
except  as  a  brother.  She  did  not  suppose  she  should 
ever  quite  like  his  wife,  but  she  should  pet  their 
children. 

"  Helen,"  said  her  father,  breaking  in  upon  these 
ideas,  "  how  should  you  like  to  live  in  the  country1?" 

"  Why,  papa,  I  was  just  thinking  of  it !  That  is, 
not  in  the  country  exactly,  but  somewhere  off  by 
ourselves,  just  you  and  I.  Of  course,  I  should  like 
it." 

"  I  don't  mean  on  a  farm,"  pursued  her  father, 
c 


34  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  but  in  some  of  the  suburban  towns,  where  we  could 
have  a  bit  of  ground  and  breathing  space.  I  think 
it  grows  closer  and  closer  in  town ;  at  times  it  seems 
as  if  I  could  hardly  catch  my  breath.  I  believe  it 
would  agree  with  me  in  the  country.  I  can't  get 
away  from  business  entirely  for  a  few  years  yet — if 
the  times  continue  so  bad,  I  must  bend  all  my 
energies  to  it,  in  fact — and  I  have  a  fancy  that  the 
coming  in  and  out  of  town  would  do  me  good.  And 
I  have  a  notion  that  I  should  like  to  build.  I  should 
like  a  new  house — a  perfectly  new  house.  We  could 
live  on  a  simpler  scale  in  the  country." 

"0  yes,  indeed!"  said  Helen.  "I  should  come 
into  town  to  shop,  with  my  initials  worked  in  worsted 
on  the  side  of  my  bag,  and  I  should  know  where  the 
bargains  were,  and  lunch  at  Copeland's.  /  should 
like  it." 

"  Well,  we  must  think  about  it.  I  daresay  we 
could  let  the  house  here  without  much  trouble.  I 
feel  it  somehow  a  great  burden  upon  me,  but  I 
shouldn't  like  to  sell  it." 

"  0  no,  papa !  We  couldn't  think  of  selling  it. 
I  should  just  like  to  let  it,  and  then  never  go  near 
it,  or  look  in  the  same  direction,  till  we  were  ready 
to  come  back  to  it." 

"  I  have  lived  here  so  long,"  continued  her  father, 
making  her  the  listener  to  his  musings  rather  than 
speaking  to  her,  "that  I  should  like  a  change.  I 
Tused  to  think  that  I  should  never  leave  the  house, 
'but  a  place  may  become  overcrowded  with  associa- 
;tions.  You  are  too  young,  Helen,  to  understand 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  35 

liow  terrible  it  is  to  find  one's  own  past  grow  into 
the  dumb  material  things  about  one,  and  become,  as 
it  were,  imprisoned  in  them." 

"  0  yes,"  sighed  the  girl,  "  there  are  some  dresses 
of  mine  that  I  can't  bear  the  sight  of,  just  because 
I  felt,  or  said,  or  did  certain  things  when  I  wore 
them." 

"  An  old  house  like  this,"  Mr.  Harkness  went  on, 
"  gets  to  be  your  body,  and  usurps  all  your  reality, 
which  doesn't  seem  to  live  in  it  either,  while  you 
move  round  like  a  ghost.  The  past  is  so  much  more 
than  the  present.  Think  how  much  more  these 
walls  and  these  old  chairs  and  tables  have  known 
of  us  than  we  now  are  !" 

"  No,  no  !  Don't  think  of  it,  papa,  or  we  shall  be 
getting  into  the  depths  again,"  pleaded  Helen. 

"  Well,  I  won't,"  consented  her  father,  coming 
back  to  himself  with  a  smile,  which  presently  faded. 
"  But  it  all  makes  me  restless  and  impatient.  I 
should  like  to  begin  a  new  life  somewhere  else,  in  a 
new  house."  He  was  silent  a  while,  trifling  with  the 
toast  on  his  plate ;  his  appetite  had  passed  at  the 
sight  of  the  food,  and  he  had  eaten  scarcely  anything. 
He  looked  at  Helen,  and  then  at  a  portrait  on  the 
wall,  and  than  at  Helen  again. 

"  I  'm  not  much  like  mamma,  am  I,  papa  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  Not  much  in  face,"  said  Mr.  Harkness. 

"  Do  you  wish  I  was  more  ?"  she  pursued  timidly. 

"No,  I  don't  think  I  do,"  said  her  father. 

"  It  would  only  make  me  more  painful,  if  I  looked 


36  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

more  like  her,  such  a  helpless,  selfish  thing  as  I  am," 
morbidly  assented  Helen.  "  I  should  only  make  you 
miss  her  the  more." 

"  Why,  Helen,  you  're  a  very  good  girl — the  best 
child  in  the  world,"  said  her  father. 

"0  no,  I'm  not,  papa.  I'm  one  of  the  worst. 
I  never  think  of  anybody  but  myself,"  said  Helen, 
who  was  thinking  of  Robert.  "  You  don't  know 
how  many  times  I  've  gone  down  on  my  mental 
knees  to  you  and  asked  you  to  have  patience  with 
me." 

"  Asked  me  to  have  patience  with  you  T'  said  her 
father,  taking  her  by  the  chin,  and  pressing  against 
his  cheek  the  beautiful  face  which  she  leaned  toward 
him.  "  Poor  child  !  There  's  hardly  a  day  since  you 
were  born  that  I  haven't  done  you  a  greater  wrong 
than  the  sum  of  all  your  sins  would  come  to.  Papas 
are  dreadful  fellows,  Helen  ;  but  they  sometimes  live 
in  the  hope  of  repairing  their  misdeeds." 

"  Write  them  on  a  slip  of  paper,  and  hide  it  in  a 
secret  drawer  that  opens  with  a  clasp  and  spring,, 
when  you  don't  know  they  're  there,"  said  Helen, 
glad  of  his  touch  of  playfulness.  "  We  've  both  been 
humbugging,  and  we  know  it." 

He  stared  at  her  and  said,  "  Your  voice  is  like 
your  mother's  ;  and  just  now,  when  you  came  in, 
your  movement  was  very  like  hers.  I  hadn't  noticed 
it  before.  But  she  has  been  a  great  deal  in  my 
mind  of  late." 

If  he  had  wished  to  talk  of  her  mother,  whom  Helen 
could  not  remember,  and  who  had  been  all  her  life 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  37 

merely  the  shadow  of  a  sorrow  to  her,  a  death,  a 
grave,  a  name  upon  a  stone,  a  picture  on  the  wall, 
she  would  not  spare  herself  the  duty  of  encouraging 
him  to  do  so.  "Was  she  tall,  like  me  ?"  she  asked. 

"Not  so  tall,"  answered  her  father.  "And  she 
was  dark." 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen,  lifting  her  eyes  to  the  picture 
on  the  wall. 

"She  had  a  great  passion  for  the  country,"  con 
tinued  Mr.  Harkness,  "  and  I  liked  the  town.  It 
was  more  convenient  for  me,  and  I  was  born  in 
Boston.  It  has  often  grieved  me  to  think  that  I 
didn't  yield  to  her.  I  must  have  been  dreaming  of 
her,  for  when  I  woke  a  little  while  ago,  this  regret 
was  like  a  physical  pang  at  my  heart.  As  long  as 
we  live,  we  can't  help  treating  each  other  as  if  we 
were  to  live  always.  But  it 's  a  mistake.  I  never 
refused  to  go  into  the  country  with  her,"  he  said  as 
if  to  appease  this  old  regret.  "  I  merely  postponed 
it.  Now  I  should  like  to  go." 

He  rose  from  the  table,  and  taking  the  study-lamp 
in  his  hand,  he  feebly  pushed  apart  the  sliding-doors 
that  opened  into  the  drawing-room.  He  moved 
slowly  down  its  length,  on  one  side,  throwing  the 
light  upon  this  object  and  that,  before  which  he 
faltered,  and  so  returned  on  the  other  side,  as  if  to 
familiarise  himself  with  every  detail.  Sometimes  he 
held  the  lamp  above,  and  sometimes  below  his  face, 
but  always  throwing  its  age  and  weariness  into  relief. 
Helen  had  remained  watching  him.  As  he  came 
back  she  heard  him  say,  less  to  her  as  it  seemed  than 


38  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

to  himself,  "  Yes,  I  should  like  to  sell  it.  I  'm  tired 
of  it." 

He  set  the  lamp  down  upon  the  table  again,  and 
sank  into  his  chair,  and  lapsed  into  a  reverie  which 
left  Helen  solitary  beside  him.  "Ah,"  she  realised, 
as  she  looked  on  his  musing,  absent  face,  "  he  is  old 
and  I  am  young,  and  he  has  more  to  love  in  the 
other  world,  with  my  mother  and  both  my  brothers 
there,  than  he  has  in  this.  Oh,  Robert,  Robert, 
Robert!" 

But  perhaps  his  absent  mind  was  not  so  much 
bent  upon  the  lost  as  she  thought.  He  had  that 
way  fathers  have  of  treating  his  daughter  as  an 
equal,  of  talking  to  her  gravely  and  earnestly,  and 
then  of  suddenly  dropping  her  into  complete 
nothingness,  as  if  she  were  a  child  to  be  amused  for 
a  while,  and  then  set  down  from  his  knee  and  sent 
out  of  doors.  Helen  dutifully  accepted  this  con 
dition  of  their  companionship  ;  she  cared  for  it  so 
little  as  never  to  have  formulated  it  to  herself ;  when 
she  was  set  down  she  went  out,  and  ordinarily  she 
did  not  think  of  it. 

A  peremptory  ring  at  the  door  startled  them  both, 
and  when  Margaret  had  opened  it  there  entered  all 
at  the  same  instant,  a  loud,  kindly  voice,  the  chirp 
of  boots,  heavily  trodden  upon  by  a  generous  bulk, 
that  rocked  from  side  to  side  in  its  advance,  and 
a  fragrance  of  admirable  cigars,  that  active  and 
passive  perfume,  which  comes  from  smoking  and 
being  smoked  in  the  best  company.  "  At  home, 
Margaret  1 "  asked  the  voice,  whose  loudness  was  a 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  39 

husky  loudness,  in  a  pause  of  the  boots.  "  Yes  1 
Well,  don't  put  me  in  there,  Margaret,"  which  was 
apparently  in  rejection  of  the  drawing-room.  "  I  ;11 
join  them  in  the  library." 

The  boots  came  chirping  down  the  hall  in  that 
direction,  with  a  sound  of  heavy  breathing.  Helen 
sprang  from  her  chair,  and  fled  to  meet  the  cheerful 
sound ;  there  was  the  noise  of  an  encountering 
kiss,  and  a  jolly  laugh,  and  "Well,  Helen!"  and 
"Oh,  Captain  Butler  !"  and  later,  "  Harkness  !"  and 
"  Butler  ! "  as  Helen  led  the  visitor  in. 

"  Well ! "  said  this  guest,  for  the  third  time.  He 
straightened  his  tall  mass  to  its  full  height,  and 
looked  out  over  his  chest  with  eyes  of  tender  regard 
upon  Harkness's  thin  and  refined  face,  now  lit  up 
after  the  hand-shaking  with  cordial  welcome.  "  Do 
you  know,"  he  said,  as  if  somehow  it  were  a  curious 
fact  of  natural  history,  "  that  you  have  it  uncom 
monly  close  in  here  ?"  He  went  over  to  the  window 
that  opened  upon  the  little  grassy  yard,  and  put  it 
up  for  himself,  while  Harkness  was  explaining  that 
it  had  been  put  down  while  he  was  napping.  Then 
he  planted  himself  in  a  large  leathern  chair  beside 
it,  and  went  on  smoking  the  cigar  on  the  end  of 
which  he  had  been  chewing.  He  started  from  the 
chair  with  violence,  coughing  and  gesturing  to  forbid 
Helen,  who  was  hospitably  whispering  to  Margaret. 
"No,  no;  don't  do  it.  I  won't  have  anything.  I 
couldn't.  I  Jve  just  dined  at  the  club.  Yes,  you  may* 
do  that  much,'"'  he  added  to  Helen,  as  she  set  a  little 
table  with  an  ash-holder  at  his  elbow.  "  You  've 


40  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

no  idea  what  a  night  it  is.  It 's  cooler,  and  the  air's 
delicious.  I  say,  I  want  to  take  Helen  back  with 
me.  I  wish  she  'd  go  alone,  and  leave  us  two  old 
fellows  together  here.  There 's  no  place  like  Boston 
in  the  summer,  after  all.  But  you  haven't  told  me 
whether  you  're  surprised  to  see  me."  Captain 
Butler  looked  roun'd  at  them  with  something  of  the 
difficulty  of  a  sea-turtle  in  a  lateral  inspection. 

"  Never  surprised,  but  always  charmed,"  said 
Helen,  with  just  the  shade  of  mockery  in  her  tone 
which  she  knew  suited  this  visitor. 

"Charmed,  eh?"  asked  Captain  Butler.  Appar 
ently  he  meant  to  say  something  satirical  about  the 
word,  but  could  not  think  of  anything.  He  turned 
again  to  her  father  :  "  How  are  you,  Harkness]" 

"  Oh,  I  'm  very  well,"  said  Harkness  evasively. 
"  I  'm  as  well  as  usual." 

"  Then  you  have  yourself  fetched  home  in  a  hack 
by  a  policeman  every  day,  do  you  ? "  remarked  Cap 
tain  Butler,  blowing  a  succession  of  white  rings  into 
the  air.  "  You  were  seen  from  the  club  window. 
I  '11  tell  you  what ;  you  're  sticking  to  it  too  close." 

"  0  yes,  Captain  Butler,  do  get  him  away,"  sighed 
Helen,  while  her  father,  who  had  not  sat  down,  began 
to  walk  back  and  forth  in  an  irritated,  restless  way. 

"  For  the  present  I  can't  leave  it,"  said  Harkness, 
fretfully.  He  added  more  graciously:  "Perhaps  in 
a  week  or  two,  or  next  month,  I  can  get  off  for  a 
few  days.  You  know  I  was  one  of  the  securities  for 
Bates  and  Mather,"  he  said,  looking  at  Captain 
Butler  over  Helen's  head. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  41 

"  I  had  forgotten  that,"  answered  Captain  Butler 
gravely. 

"  They  left  things  in  a  complete  tangle.  I  can't 
tell  just  where  I  am  yet,  and,  of  course,  I've  no 
peace  till  I  know." 

"Of  course,"  assented  Captain  Butler.  "I  won't 
vex  you  with  retroactive  advice,  Joshua,"  he  added 
affectionately,  "  but  I  hope  you  won't  do  anything  of 
that  kind  again." 

"  No,  Jack,  I  won't.  But  you  know  under  the 
circumstances  it  would  have  been  black  ingratitude 
to  refuse." 

"  Yes,"  said  Captain  Butler.  He  smoked  a  while 
in  silence.  Then  he  said,  "  I  suppose  it 's  no  worse 
with  the  old  trade  than  with  everything  else,  at 
present." 

"No,  we're  all  in  the  same  boat,  I  believe,"  said 
Harkness. 

"  How  is  Marian  ? "  asked  Helen,  a  little  restive 
under  the  cross  firing. 

"  Oh,  Marian 's  all  right.  But  if  she  were  not,  she 
wouldn't  know  it. " 

"  I  suppose  she  's  very  much  engaged,"  said  Helen, 
with  a  faint  pang  of  something  like  envy. 

"  Yes,"  said  Captain  Butler.  "  I  thought  you  were 
at  Rye  Beach,  young  lady." 

"  I  thought  you  were  at  Beverley,  old  gentleman," 
retorted  Helen;  she  had  been  saucy  to  Captain 
Butler  from  infancy. 

"  So  I  was.     But  I  came  up  unexpectedly  to-day." 

«  So  did  I." 


42  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  Did  you  ?  Good !  Now  I  '11  tell  you  why  / 
came,  and  you  shall  tell  me  why  you  did.  I  came 
because  I  got  to  thinking  of  your  father,  and  had  a 
.  fancy  I  should  like  to  see  him.  Did  you  1" 

Helen  hung  her  head.     "  No,"  she  said  at  length. 

The  Captain  laughed.  "  Whom  had  you  a  fancy  to 
see  here,  then,  at  this  time  of  year  1 " 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  say  I  should  tell.  You  made  that 
bargain  all  yourself,"  mocked  Helen.  "But  it  was 
very  kind  of  you  to  come  on  papa's  account,"  she 
added  softly. 

"  What  are  you  making  there  t"  asked  the  Captain, 
bending  forward  to  look  at  the  work  Helen  had 
taken  into  her  lap. 

"Who — I  ?"  she  asked,  as  if  she  had  perhaps  been 
asked  what  Robert  was  making.  Her  mind  had 
been  running  upon  him  since  Captain  Butler  asked 
her  why  she  had  come  up  to  Boston.  "  Oh  ! "  she 
recovered  herself.  "  Why,  this,"  she  said,  taking 
the  skeleton  frame-work  of  gauze  and  wire  on  her 
finger-tips,  and  holding  it  at  arm's-length,  with  her 
head  aslant  surveying  it,  "this  is  a  bonnet  for  Mar 
garet." 

"A  bonnet,  hey?"  said  the  Captain.  "It  looks 
like  a  Shaker  cap." 

"  Yes  ]"  Helen  clapped  it  on  her  head,  and  looked 
jauntily  at  the  captain,  dropping  her  shoulders,  and 
putting  her  chin  out.  "Now,  does  it  ?" 

"No,  not  now.  The  Shaker  sisters  don't  wear 
crimps,  and  they  don't  smile  in  that  wicked  way." 
Helen  laughed,  and  took  the  bonnet-frame  off.  "  So 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  43 

you  make  Margaret's  bonnets,   do   you  1     Do   you 
make  your  own  ? " 

"  Sometimes.  Not  often.  But  I  like  millinery. 
It 's  what  I  should  turn  to  if  I  were  left  to  take  care 
of  myself." 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  wouldn't  find  it  such  fun,"  said 
the  Captain. 

"  Oh,  milliners  make  lots  of  money,"  returned 
Helen.  "They  must.  Why,  when  this  bonnet  is 
done,  you  couldn't  get  it  for  ten  dollars.  Well,  the 
materials  don't  cost  three." 

"  I  wish  my  girls  had  your  head  for  business," 
.said   the    Captain   honestly.      Helen   made  him   a 
burlesque  obeisance.     "  Yes,  I  mean  it,"  he  insisted. 
* '  You  know  that  I  always  admired  your  good  sense.  - 
I  'm  always  talking  it  into  Marian." 

"  Better  not,"  said  Helen,  with  a  pin  between  her 
teeth. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  haven't  got  it,  and  it  'd  make  her  hate 
me  if  I  had." 

'•'  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  're  not  a  sensible 
girl  1 "  inquired  the  Captain. 

Helen  nodded,  and  made  "Yes"  with  her  lips,  as 
well  as  she  could  with  the  pin  between  her  teeth. 
She  took  it  out  to  say,  "  You  should  have  seen  my 
performances  in  my  room  a  little  while  ago."  She 
was  thinking  of  that  rehearsal  before  the  mirror. 

"  What  were  they  ?"  asked  the  Captain. 

"  Oh,  as  if  I  should  tell  !"  Helen  bowed  herself 
over  the  bonnet,  and  blushed,  and  laughed.  Her 


44 

father  liked  to  hear  the  banter  between  her  and  his 
old  friend.  They  both  treated  her  as  if  she  were  a 
child,  and  she  knew  it  and  liked  it;  she  behaved 
like  a  child. 

"  Harkness,"  said  the  Captain,  turning  his  fat  head 
half  round  toward  his  friend,  who  sat  a  little  back 
of  him,  and  breaking  off  his  cigar-ash  into  the  bronze 
plate  at  his  elbow,  "  do  you  knowjhatjmir  remain 
ing  in  the  trade  after  all  the  rest  of  us  have  gone  out 
qf  it  is  something  quite  monumental  1 "  Captain 
Butler  had  a  tender  and  almost  reverential  love  for 
Joshua  Harkness,  but  he  could  not  help  using  a  little 
patronage  toward  him,  since  his  health  had  grown 
delicate,  and  his  fortunes  had  not  distinctly  prospered. 

"I  am  glad  you  like  it,  Jack,"  said  Harkness  quietly. 

"  The  Captain  is  a  mass  of  compliments  to-night," 
remarked  Helen. 

The  Captain  grinned  his  consciousness.  "  You  are 
a  minx,"  he  said  admiringly  to  Helen.  Then  he 
threw  back  his  head  and  pulled  at  his  cigar,  Jittering 
between  puffs,  "  No,  but  I  mean  it,  Harkness.  V^here's 
something  uncommonly  fine  about  it.  A  man  gets 
to  be  noblesse  by  sticking  to  any  old  order  of  things. 
It  makes  one  think  of  the  ancien  regime  somehow  to 
look  at  you.  Why,  you're  still  o1[  the  Boldest  tradi 
tion  of  commerce,  the  stately  and  gorgeous  traffic  of 
the  orient  ]_  you  're  what  Samarcand,  and  Venice, 
and  Genoa,  and  Lisbon,  and  London,  and  Salem  have 
come  to."  "^ 

"  They  Ve  come  to  very  little  in  the  end  then," 
said  Harkness  as  before. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  45 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that ;"  the  Captain  took 
the  end  of  his  cigar  out  and  lit  a  fresh  one  from  it 
before  he  laid  it  down  upon  the  ash-holder ;  "  I  don't 
know  about  that.  We  don't  consider  material  things 
merely.  There  has  always  been  something  romantic, 
something  heroic  about  the  old  trade.  To  be  sure, 
now  that  it 's  got  down  to  telegraphing,  it 's  only  fit 
For~~ ISTew- Yorkers: — They  're  quite  welcome  to  it." 
This  was  not  very  logical  taken  as  a  whole,  but  we 
cannot  always  be  talking  reason.  At  the  words 
romantic  and  heroic  Helen  had  pricked  her  ears,  if 
that  phrase  may  be  used  concerning  ears  of  such 
loveliness  as  hers,  and  she  paused  from  her  milli 
nery.  "  Ah  ha,  young  lady ! "  cried  the  Captain ; 
"  you  're  listening,  are  you  ?  You  didn't  know 
there  was  any  romance  or  heroism  in  business,  did 
you]" 

"  What  business  1 "  asked  Helen. 

"Your  father's  business,  young  woman;  my  old 
business,  the  India  trade." 

"  The  India  trade  1  Why,  were  you  ever  in  the 
India  trade,  Captain  Butler  ? " 

"Was  /  ever  in  the  India  trade  ?"  demanded  the 
Captain,  taking  his  cigar  out  of  his  mouth  in  order  to 
frown  with  more  effect  upon  Helen.  "  Well,  upon 
my  word !  Where  did  you  think  I  got  my  title  1 
I  'm  too  old  to  have  been  in  the  war." 

"  I  didn't  know,"  said  Helen. 

"I  got  it  in  the  India  trade.  I  was  captain  and 
supercargo  many  an  eleven  months'  voyage,  just  as 
your  father  was." 


46  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Helen  was  vastly  amused  at  this.  "  Why,  papal 
were  you  ever  captain  of  a  ship  1 " 

"  For  a  time,"  said  Mr.  Harkness,  smiling  at  the 
absurdity. 

"  Of  course  he  was  !"  shouted  the  Captain. 

"  Then  why  isn't  he  captain,  now  1 " 

"  Because  there 's  a  sort  of  captain  that  loses  his 
handle  when  he  comes  ashore,  and  there's  a  sort 
that  keeps  it.  I  ;m  one  sort  and  your  father 's  the 
other.  It 's  natural  to  call  a  person  of  my  model 
and  complexion  by  some  kind  of  title,  and  it  isn't 
natural  to  call  such  a  man  as  your  father  so.  Besides, 
I  was  captain  longer  than  he  was.  I  was  in  the  India 
trade,  young  lady,  and  out  of  it  before  you  were  born." 

"  I  was  born  a  great  while  ago,"  observed  Helen, 
warningly. 

"I  daresay  you  think  so,"  said  the  Captain.  "I 
thought  /  was,  at  your  age.  But  you  '11  find,  as  you 
grow  older,  that  you  weren't  born  such  a  very  great 
while  ago  after  all.  The  time  shortens  up.  Isn't 
that  so,  Harkness  1 " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Harkness.  "Everything  happened 
day  before  yesterday." 

"Exactly/'  said  the  Captain.  Helen  thought  how 
young  she  must  be  to  have  already  got  that  letter  of 
Eobert's  so  many  centuries  ago.  "  Yes,"  the  Captain 
pursued.  "  I  had  been  in  the  India  trade  twenty- 
five  years  when  I  went  out  of  it  in  1857 — or  it  went 
out  of  me."  He  nodded  his  great,  close-clipped 
head  in  answer  to  her  asking  glance.  "  It  went  out 
of  a  good  many  people  at  that  time.  We  had  a 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  47 

grand  smash.  We  had  overdone  itS  We  had  warn 
ings  enough,  but  we  couldn't  realiseTftat  our  world 
was  coming  to  an  end.  It  hadn't  got  so  low  as 
telegraphing,  yet ;  but  it  was  mere  shop  then  even, 
compared  with  the  picturesque  traffic  of  our  young 
days  A  Eh,  Harkness  1 " 

u  Yes,  it  had  lost  all  attraction  but  profit." 

"Were  you  ever  down  at  India  Wharf,  Helen?" 
demanded  the  Captain.  "  I  don't  blame  you ;  neither 
were  my  girls.  But  were  you  1" 

"  Of  course,"  said  Helen,  scorning  to  lift  her  eyes 
from  her  work.  "  The  Nahant  boat  starts  from  it." 

"The  Nahant  boat!"  repeated  the  Captain  in  a 
great  rage.  "In  my  day  there  was  no  Nahant  boat 
about  India  Wharf,  I  can  tell  you,  nor  any  other 
steamboat;  nor  any  dirty  shanties  ashore.  v£he 
place  was  sacred  to  the  shipping  of  the  grandest 
commerce  in  the  world.  There  they  lay,  those 
beautiful  ships,  clean  as  silver,  every  one  of  them, 
and  manned  by  honest  Yankee  crews. 'VJ  The  Captain 
got  upon  his  feet  for  the  greater  convenience  of  his 
eloquence.  "  Not  by  ruffians  from  every  quarter  of 
the  globe.  There  wer§_gentlemen's  sons  before  the 
mast^.w,ith.J)heir  share  in  the  venture,  going  out  for 
"the  excitement  of  the  thing  ;  hoys  from  HafTSrclT" 
fellows  of  education  and  spirit  •  and  the  forecastle  \ 
was  filled  with  good  Toms  and  Jims  and  Joes  from 
the  Cape  ;  chaps  whose  aunts  you  knew ;  good  stock 
through  and  through,  sound  to  the  core.  The  super 
cargo  was  often  his  own  captain,  and  he  was  often  a 
Harvard  man — you  know  what  they  are  !" 


48  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  Nicest  fellows  in  the  world,"  consented  Helen. 

The  Captain  blew  a  shaft  of  white  smoke  into  the 
air,  and  then  cut  it  through  with  a  stroke  of  his 
cigar.  "  We  had  on  a  mixed  cargo,  and  we  might 
be  going  to  trade  at  eastern  ports  on  the  way  out. 
Nobody  knew  what  market  we  should  find  in  Cal 
cutta.  It  was  pure  adventure,  and  a  calculation  of 
chances,  and  it  was  a  great  school  of  character.  It 
was  a  trade  that  made  men  as  well  as  fortunes ;  it 
took  thought  and  forethought.  The  owners  planned 
their  ventures  like  generals  planning  a  campaign. 
They  were  not  going  to  see  us  again  for  a  year; 
they  were  not  going  to  hear  of  us  till  we  were 
signalled  outside  on  our  return.  AVhen  we  sailed 
it  was  an  event,  a  ceremony,  a  solemnity;  and  we 
celebrated  it  with  song  from  all  the  tarry  throats  on 
board.  Yes,  the  men  used  to  sing  as  we  dropped 
down  the  bay." 

"Oh,  Captain  Butler,  it  was  fine!"  cried  Helen, 
dropping  her  hands  on  her  work,  and  looking  up  at 
the  Captain  in  his  smoke-cloud,  with  rapture.  "  Papa, 
why  didn't  you  ever  let  me  come  down  to  see  your 
ships  sail  1 " 

"  It  was  all  changed  before  you  were  born,  Helen," 
began  her  father. 

"O  yes,  all  changed,"  cried  the  Captain,  taking 
the  word  away  from  him.  "  The  ships  had  begun, 
long  before  that,  to  stop  at  East  Boston,  and  we  sold 
their  cargoes  by  sample,  instead  of  handling  them 
in  our  warehouses,  and  getting  to  feel  some  sort  of 
human  interest  in  them.  When  it  came  to  that,  a 


49 

mere  shopman's  speculation,  I  didn't  much  care  for 
the  New-Yorkers  getting  it."  The  Captain  sat  down 
and  smoked  in  silence. 

"How  did_the  New-Yorkers  get  it  1"  asked 
Helen,  with  some  indignant  stir  in  her  local  pride. 

"  In  the  natural  course  of  things,"  said  her  father. 
"  Just  as  we  got  it  from  Salem.  By  being  bigger 
and  richer." 

"  Oh,  it  was  all  changed  anyway,"  broke  in  the 
Captain.  "  We  used  to  import  nearly  all  the  cotton 
goods  used  in  this  country,  —  fabrics  that  the  natives 
wove  on  their  little  looms  at  home,  and  that  had  the 
sentiment  you  girls  pretend  to  find  in  hand-made 
things,  —  but  before  we  stopped  we  got  to  sending 
our  own  cottons  to  India.  ^And  then  came  the 
^  the  finishing-stroke  to  romance 
~ 


Your~7atner  loads  now  according"  to 
the  latest  despatches  from  Calcutta.  He  knows 
just  what  his  cargo  will  be  worth  when  it  gets  there, 
and  he  telegraphs  his  people  what  to  send  back."J 
The  Captain  ended  in  a  very  minor  key  :  "  I  'm 
glad  I  went  out  of  it  when  I  did.  You  'd  have  done 
well  to  go  out  too,  Harkness." 

"  I  don  't  know,  Jack.  I  had  nothing  else  in 
view.  You  know  I  had  become  involved  before  the 
crash  came  ;  and  I  couldn't  get  out." 

"I  think  you  could,"  returned  the  Captain  stub 
bornly,  and  he  went  on  to  show  his  old  friend  how  ; 
and  the  talk  wandered  back  to  the  great  days  of 
the  old  trade,  and  to  the  merchants,  the  supercargoes, 
the  captains,  the  mates  of  their  youth.  They  talked 

D 


50  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

of  the  historic  names  before  their  date,  of  Cleaveland 
and  his  voyages,  of  Handasyde  Perkins,  of  Bromfield, 
of  the  great  chiefs  of  a  commerce  which  founded  the 
city's  prosperity,  and  which  embraced  all  climes  and 
regions.  The  Dutch  colonies  and  coffee,  the  China 
trade  and  tea,  the  North-west  coast  and  furs;  the 
Cape,  and  its  wines  and  oil ;  the  pirates  that  used  to 
harass  the  early  adventurers ;  famous  shipwrecks ; 
S.  great  gains  and  magnificent  losses ;  the  splendour 
of  the  English  nabobs  and  American  residents  at 
/  Calcutta ;  mutinies  aboardship  ;  the  idiosyncrasies  of 
certain  sailors ;  the  professional  merits  of  certain 
I  black  cooks :  these  varied  topics  and  interests  con- 
\  spired  to  lend  a  glamour  to  the  India  trade  as  it  had 
\  been,  that  at  last  moved  Captain  Butler  to  argument 
^  in  proof  of  the  feasibility  of  its  revival.  It  was  the 
explanation  of  this  scheme  that  wearied  Helen.  At 
the  same  time  she  saw  that  Captain  Butler  did  not 
mean  to  go  very  soon,  for  he  had  already  sunk  the 
old  comrade  in  the  theorist  so  far  as  to  be  saying, 
"Well,  sir,"  and  "Why,  sir,"  and  "I  tell  you,  sir." 
She  got  up — not  without  dropping  her  scissors  from 
her  lap,  as  is  the  custom  of  her  sex — and  gave  him 
her  hand,  which  he  took  in  his  left,  without  rising. 

"  Going  to  bed  ?  That 's  right.  I  shall  stay  a  bit, 
yet,  I  want  to  talk  with  your  father." 

"Talk  him  into  taking  a  little  rest,"  said  Helen, 
looking  at  the  Captain  as  she  bent  over  her  father  to 
kiss  him  good-night. 

"  I  shall  give  him  all  sorts  of  good  advice,"  returned 
the  Captain  cheerily. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  51 

Her  father  held  her  hand  fondly  till  she  drew  an 
arm's -length  away,  and  then  relinquished  it  with  a 
very  tender  "  Good-night,  my  dear." 

Helen  did  not  mean  to  go  to  bed,  and  when  she 
reached  her  own  room,  she  sat  a  long  time  there, 
working  at  Margaret's  bonnet,  and  overhearing  now 
and  then  some  such  words  of  the  Captain's  as  "  dyes," 
"muslins,"  " ice,"  "teak,"  "gunny-bags,"  "shellac," 
"Company's  choppers," — a  name  of  fearful  note 
descriptive  of  a  kind  of  Calcutta  handkerchief  once 
much  imported.  She  imagined  that  the  Captain  was 
still  talking  of  the  India  trade.  Her  father  spoke  so 
low  that  she  could  not  make  out  any  words  of  his; 
the  sound  of  his  voice  somehow  deeply  touched  her, 
his  affection  appealed  to  hers  in  that  unintelligible  ' 
murmur,  as  the  disembodied  religion  of  a  far-heard 
hymn  appeals  to  the  solemnity  of  the  listener's  soul.( 
She  began  to  make  a  fantastic  comparison  of  the 
qualities  of  her  father's  voice  and  the  Captain's,  to  the 
disadvantage  of  the  Captain's  other  qualities;  she 
found  that  her  father  was  of  finer  spirit  and  of  gentler  v 
nature,  and  by  a  natural  transition  she  perceived  that 
it  was  a  grander  thing  to  be  sitting  alone  in  one's 
room  with  one's  heart-ache  than  to  be  perhaps  foolishly  " 
walking  the  piazza  with  one's  accepted  commonplace 
destiny  as  Marian  Butler  was  at  that  moment.  At 
this  point  she  laughed  at  herself,  said  "Poor  Marian  " 
aloud,  and  recognised  that  her  vagaries  were  making 
Captain  Butler  an  ill  return  for  his  kindness  in 
dropping  in  to  chat  with  her  father ;  she  hoped  he 
would  not  chat  too  long,  and  tire  him  out ;  and  so  her 


52  A  WOMAN'S   REASON. 

thoughts  ran  upon  Robert  again,  and  she  heard  no 
more  of  the  talk  below,  till  after  what  seemed  to  her, 
starting  from  it,  a  prolonged  reverie.  Then  she  was 
aware  of  Captain  Butler's  boots  chirping  out  of  the 
library  into  the  hall,  toward  the  door,  with  several 
pauses,  and  she  caught  fragments  of  talk  again  :  "I 
had  no  idea  it  was  as  bad  as  that,  Harkness — 
bad  business,  must  see  what  can  be  done,  weather 
it  a  few  weeks  longer — confoundedly  straitened 
myself — pull  you  through,"  and  faintly,  "Well, 
good-night,  Joshua;  I'll  see  you  in  the  morning." 
There  was  another  pause,  in  which  she  fancied 
Captain  Butler  lighting  his  cigar  at  the  chimney 
of  the  study-lamp  with  which  her  father  would  be 
following  him  to  the  door ;  the  door  closed  and  her 
father  went  slowly  back  to  the  library,  where  she  felt 
rather  than  heard  him  walking  up  and  down.  She 
wanted  to  go  to  him,  but  she  would  not;  she  wanted 
to  call  to  him,  but  she  remained  silent ;  when  at  last 
she  heard  his  step  upon  the  stairs,  heavily  ascending, 
and  saw  the  play  of  his  lamp-light  on  the  walls  with 
out,  she  stealthily  turned  down  the  gas  that  he  might 
not  think  her  awake.  Half  an  hour  later,  she  crept 
to  his  door,  which  stood  a  little  ajar,  and  whispered, 
"Papa!" 

"What  is  it,  Helen?"  He  was  in  bed,  but  his 
voice  sounded  very  wakeful.  "  What  is  it,  my 
dear ! " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"— she  flung  herself  on  her 
knees  beside  his  bed  in  the  dark,  and  put  her  arms 
about  his  neck — "  but  I  feel  so  unhappy  !" 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  53 

"About — "  began  her  father,  but  she  quickly  in 
terrupted. 

"  No,  no  !  About  you,  papa !  You  seem  so  sad 
and  careworn,  and  I  'm  nothing  but  a  burden  and  a 
trouble  to  you." 

"  You  are  nothing  but  a  comfort  and  a  help  to  me. 
Poor  child  !  You  mustn't  be  worried  by  my  looks. 
I  shall  be  all  right  in  the  morning.  Come,  come  ! " 

"But  weren't  you  perplexed  somehow  about  busi 
ness  1  Weren't  you  thinking  about  those  accounts  f 

"No,  my  dear." 

"What  were  you  thinking  of?" 

"  Well,  Helen,  I  ,was  thinking  of  your  mother  and 
your  little  brothers." 

"Oh  !"  said  Helen,  with  the  kind  of  recoil  which 
the  young  must  feel  even  from  the  dearest  dead. 
"  Do  you  often  think  of  them  T 

"  No,  I  believe,  not  often.  Never  so  much  as  to 
night,  since  I  first  lost  them ;  the  house  seemed  full 
of  them  then.  I  suppose  these  impressions  must 
recur." 

"Oh,  doesn't  it  make  you  feel  strange?"  asked 
Helen,  cowering  a  little  closer  to  him. 

"  Why  should  it  1  It  doesn't  make  me  feel  strange 
to  have  your  face  against  mine." 

"  No,  but —  0  don't,  don't  talk  of  such  things, 
or  I  can't  endure  it !  Papa,  papa  !  I  love  you  so, 
it  breaks  my  heart  to  have  you  talk  in  that  way. 
How  wicked  I  must  be  not  to  like  you  to  think  of 
them  !  But  don't,  to  night  !  I  want  you  to  think 
of  me,  and  what  we  are  going  to  do  together,  arid 


54 

about  all  our  plans  for  next  winter,  and  for  that 
new  house,  and  everything.  Will  you]  Promise  !" 
Her  father  pressed  her  cheek  closer  against  his, 
and  she  felt  the  fond  smile  which  she  could  not  see 
in  the  dark.  He  gave  her  his  promise,  and  then 
began  to  talk  about  her  going  down  to  the  Butlers', 
which  it  seemed  the  Captain  had  urged  further  after 
she  had  bidden  him  good-night.  The  Captain  was 
going  to  stay  in  Boston  a  day  or  two,  and  Mr.  Hark- 
ness  thought  he  might  run  down  with  him  at  the 
end  of  the  week.  Helen  did  not  care  to  go,  but 
with  this  in  view  she  did  not  care  to  say  so.  She 
let  her  father  comfort  her  with  caressing  words  and 
touches,  as  when  she  was  a  child,  and  she  frankly 
stayed  her  weak-heartedness  upon  his  love.  She 
was  ashamed,  but  she  could  not  help  it,  nor  wish  to 
help  it.  As  she  rested  her  head  upon  his  pillow  she 
heard  his  watch  ticking  under  it ;  in  this  sound  all 
the  years  since  she  was  a  little  girl  were  lost.  Then 
his  voice  began  to  sink  drowsily,  as  it  used  to  do  in 
remote  times,  when  she  had  wearied  him  out  with 
her  troubles.  He  answered  at  random,  and  his  talk 
wandered  so  that  it  made  her  laugh.  That  roused 
him  to  full  consciousness  of  her  parting  kiss.  "Good 
night,"  he  said,  and  held  her  hand,  and  drew  her 
down  by  it  again,  and  kissed  her  once  more. 


III. 

HELEN  woke  the  next  morning  with  the  overnight 
ache  still  at  her  heart :  she  wondered  that  she  could 
have  thought  of  leaving  her  father;  but  when  she 
opened  her  shutters  and  let  in  the  light,  she  was 
aware  of  a  change  that  she  could  not  help  sharing. 
It  was  the  wind  that  had  changed,  and  was  now 
east ;  the  air  was  fresh  and  sparkling ;  the  homi 
cidal  sunshine  of  the  day  before  lay  in  the  streets 
and  on  the  house  fronts  as  harmless  as  painted 
sunshine  in  a  picture.  Another  day  might  transform 
all  again  ;  the  tidal  wave  of  life  that  the  sea  had 
sent  from  its  deep  cisterns  out  over  the  land  might 
ebb  as  quickly,  and  the  world  find  itself  old  and 
haggard,  and  suffering  once  more  ;  but  while  it  lasted, 
this  respite  was  a  rapture. 

Helen  came  down  with  something  of  it  in  her  face, 
the  natural  unreasoned  and  unreasoning  hopefulness 
of  young  nerves  rejoicing  in  the  weather's  mood; 
but  she  began  at  breakfast  by  asking  her  father  if  he 
did  not  think  it  was  rather  crazy  for  her  to  be 
starting  off  for  Beverley  the  very  day  after  she 
had  got  home  for  good,  and  had  just  unpacked 
everything.  She  said  she  would  go  only  on  three 


56  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

conditions: — first,  .that  lie  felt  perfectly  well;  second, 
that  he  would  be  sure  to  come  down  on  Saturday ; 
and  third,  that  he  would  be  sure  to  bring  her  back 
with  him  on  Monday. 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  stand  Marian  Butler  in  her 
present  semi-fluid  state  more  than  three  days ;  and  I 
wouldn't  consent  to  leave  you,  papa,  except  that 
while  you  're  worrying  over  business  you  'd  really 
rather  not  have  me  about.  Would  you  1 " 

Her  father  said  he  always  liked  to  have  her  about. 

"  0  yes ;  of  course,"  said  Helen.  "  But  don't 
you  see,  I  'm  trying  to  make  it  a  virtue  to  go,  and  I 
can't  go  unless  I  do  1 " 

He  laughed  with  her  at  her  hypocrisy.  They 
agreed  that  this  was  Thursday  the  15th,  and  that  he 
should  come  down  on  Saturday  the  17th,  and  that 
he  would  let  nothing  detain  him,  and  that  he  would 
come  in  time  for  dinner,  and  not  put  it  off,  as  he 
would  be  sure  to  do,  till  the  last  train.  Helen  gave 
him  a  number  of  charges  as  to  his  health,  and  his 
hours  of  work,  and  bade  him,  if  he  did  not  feel 
perfectly  well,  to  telegraph  her  instantly.  When  he 
started  down  town  she  made  him  promise  to  drive 
home.  After  the  door  closed  upon  him,  she  won 
dered  that  she  had  ever  allowed  herself  to  think  of 
leaving  him,  and  indignantly  dismissed  the  idea  of 
going  to  Beverley ;  but  she  went  on  and  packed  her 
trunk  so  as  to  have  it  ready  when  the  express-man 
came  for  it.  She  could  easily  send  him  away,  and 
besides,  if  she  did  not  go  now,  there  was  no  hope  of 
getting  her  father  off  for  a  holiday  and  a  little  change 


A  WOMAN'S   REASON.  57 

of  scene.  She  quitted  the  house  in  time  to  catch 
the  noon  train,  and  rode  drearily  down  to  Beverley, 
but  not  without  the  comfort  of  feeling  herself  the 
victim  of  an  inexorable  destiny.  All  the  way  down 
she  was  in  impulse  rushing  back  to  Boston,  and  \ 
astonishing  Margaret  by  her  return,  and  telling  her 
father  that  she  found  she  could  not  go,  and  being 
fondly  laughed  at  by  him.  She  was  almost  in  tears 
when  the  brakeman  shouted  out  the  name  of  the 
station,  and  if  Marian  Butler  had  not  been  there 
with  her  phaeton,  in  obedience  to  the  Captain's 
telegram  announcing  Helen's  arrival,  she  would  have 
hidden  herself  somewhere,  and  taken  the  next  train 
back  to  town.  As  it  was,  she  descended  into  the 
embrace  of  her  friend,  who  was  so  glad  to  see  her 
that  she  tried  to  drive  through  the  train,  just  begin 
ning  to  move  off,  on  the  tiack  that  crossed  their 
road,  and  had  to  be  stopped  by  the  baggage-master, 
who  held  the  pony's  nose  till  the  train  was  w^ell  on 
its  way  to  Portland.  At  the  door  of  the  cottage, 
when  the  pony  had  drawn  up  the  phaeton  there, 
with  a  well-affected  air  of  being  driven  up,  Mrs.  Butler 
met  Helen  with  tender  and  approving  welcome,  and 
said  that  they  could  never  have  hoped  to  get  her  father 
to  come  unless  she  had  come  first.  "This  change 
in  the  weather  will  be  everything  for  him,  and  you 
mustn't  worry  about  him,"  she  said,  laying  a  sooth 
ing  touch  upon  Helen's  lingering  anxieties.  "  If  he 
has  any  business  perplexities,  you  may  be  sure  he  'd 
rather  have  you  out  of  the  way.  I  have  seen  some 
thing  of  business  perplexities  in  my  time,  my  dear, 


58  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

and  I  know  what  they  are.  I  shall  telegraph  to  Mr. 
Butler  to  bring  your  father  in  the  same  train  with 
him,  and  not  give  him  any  chance  of  slipping  through 
his  fingers." 

Mrs.  Butler  was  one  of  those  pale,  slight  ladies, 
not  easily  imaginable  apart  from  the  kind  of  soft 
breakfast  shawl  which  she  wore,  and  which  har 
monised  with  the  invalid  purple  under  her  kind  eyes, 
the  homes  of  habitual  headache ;  and  the  daughters 
of  the  marriage  Captain  Butler  had  made  rather  late 
in  life  with  a  woman  fifteen  years  younger  than 
himself,  were  as  unlike  their  mother  as  their  father 
was.  These  large,  warm  blondes  invited  all  the 
coolness  they  could  with  their  draperies,  and  stood 
grouped  about  her,  so  many  statues  of  health  and 
young  good  looks  and  perpetual  good-nature,  with 
bangs  and  frizzes  over  their  white  foreheads,  and 
shadowing  their  floating,  heavily-lashed  blue  eyes. 
When  alone  they  often  tended  in  behaviour  to 
an  innocent  rowdiness ;  they  were  so  amiable,  and 
so  glad,  and  so  strong,  that  they  could  not  very  well 
keep  quiet,  and  when  quiet,  especially  in  their 
mother's  presence,  they  had  a  knowingly  quelled 
look  :  in  their  father's  presence  they  were  not  ex 
pected  nor  liked  to  be  quiet.  They  admired  Helen 
almost  as  much  as  they  admired  their  mother.  She 
was  older  than  any  of  them,  except  Marian,  and  was 
believed  to  be  a  pattern  of  style  and  wisdom,  who 
had  had  lots  of  offers,  and  could  marry  anybody . 
While  Helen  and  their  mother  talked  together,  they 
listened  in  silence,  granting  their  superiority,  with 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  59 

the  eager  humility  of  well-bred  younger  girlhood; 
and  Marian  went  to  see  about  lunch. 

Mr.  Ray  was  coming  to  lunch,  and  Helen  was  to 
see  him  with  Marian  for  the  first  time  since  their 
engagement.  He  was  a  man  she  had  not  known  very 
well  in  Harvard,  though  he  was  of  the  class  she  had 
danced  through  with.  He  was  rather  quiet,  and  she 
had  not  formed  a  nattering  opinion  of  him ;  some  of 
the  most  brilliant  fellows  liked  him,  but  she  had 
chosen  to  think  him  dull.  That  was  some  years  ago, 
and  she  had  not  often  met  him  since ;  he  had  been 
away  a  great  deal. 

His  quiet  seemed  to  have  grown  upon  him,  when 
he  appeared,  or  it  might  have  been  the  contrast  of 
his  composure  with  the  tumult  of  the  young  girls 
that  gave  it  such  a  positive  effect.  He  seemed  the 
best  of  friends  with  them  all,  but  in  his  own  way. 
He  spoke  little  and  he  spoke  low ;  and  he  could  not 
be  got  to  repeat  wrhat  he  said ;  he  always  said  some 
thing  different  the  second  time,  and  if  he  only  looked 
as  if  he  were  going  to  speak,  his  prospective  sisters-in- 
law  fell  helplessly  silent.  He  was  not  quite  so  tall 
as  Marian,  and  he  was  much  slighter ;  she  generously 
prided  herself  upon  being  unable  to  wear  his  gloves, 
which  Jessie  Butler  could  just  get  on.  He  was  a 
very  scrupulously  perfect  man  as  to  his  gloves,  and 
every  part  of  his  dress,  which  the  young  ladies  now 
criticised  in  detail,  after  he  had  paid  his  duty  to 
Helen  and  their  mother.  They  all  used  him  with  a 
freedom  that  amused  Helen,  and  that  was  not  much 
short  of  the  frankness  with  which  Marian  came  out 


60  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

and  planted  a  large  kiss  upon  his  lips,  and  then, 
without  speaking  to  him,  turned  to  her  mother  with 
an  air  of  housekeeperly  pre-occupation  to  ask  some 
thing  about  the  lunch,  and  disappeared  again. 

Mr.  Ray  took  everything  with  grave  composure,  a 
little  point  of  light  in  either  of  his  brown  eyes,  and 
the  slightest  curve  of  the  small  brown  moustache  that 
curled  tightly  in  over  his  upper  lip,  showing  his  sense 
from  time  to  time  of  what  he  must  have  found  droll 
if  some  one  else  had  been  in  his  place.  He,  had  an 
affectionate  deference  for  Mrs.  Butler  that  charmed 
Helen.  He  carved  at  lunch  with  a  mastery  of  the 
difficult  art,  and  he  was  quite  at  ease  in  his  character 
of  head  of  the  family.  It  gave  Helen  a  sort  of  shock 
to  detect  him  in  pressing  Marian's  hand  under  the 
table ;  but  upon  reflection,  she  was  not  sure  that  she 
disapproved  of  it. 

She  perceived  that  she  must  revise  her  opinion  of 
Mr.  Ray.  Without  being  witty,  his  talk  was  bright 
and  to  the  last  degree  sensible,  with  an  edge  of  satire 
for  the  young  girls,  to  whom  at  the  same  time  he  was 
alertly  attentive.  Helen  thought  his  manner  ex 
quisite,  especially  towards  herself  in  her  quality  of 
Marian's  old  and  valued  friend  ;  it  was  just  what  the 
manner  of  a  man  in  his  place  should  be.  He  talked 
a  good  deal  to  her,  and  told  her  he  had  spent  most  of 
the  summer  on  the  water,  "Which  accounts,"  she 
mused,  "  for  his  brown  little  hands,  not  much  bigger 
than  a  Jap  law-student's,  and  for  that  perfect  mass  of 
freckles."  He  said  he  was  expecting  his  boat  round 
from  Manchester  ;  and  he  hoped  that  she  would  come 


61 

with  the  other  young  ladies  and  take  a  look  at  her 
after  lunch.  He  said  "  boat  "  so  low  that  Helen  could 
just  catch  the  word,  and  she  smiled  in  consenting  to 
go  and  look  at  it,  for  she  imagined  from  his  depreca- ' 
tory  tone  that  it  was  something  like  a  dory  which 
might  have  been  bestowed  upon  Mr.  Ray's  humility 
by  some  kindly  fisherman.  Walking  to  the  shore  by 
Helen's  side  he  said  something  further  about  running 
down  to  Mt.  Dessert  in  his  boat,  and  about  one  of  his 
men  knowing  how  to  broil  a  mackerel  pretty  well, 
which  puzzled  her,  and  shook  her  in  her  error,  just  be 
fore  they  came  upon  a  vision  of  snowy  duck  and  paint,/ 
and  shining  brasses,  straight  and  slim  and  exquisite 
as  Helen  herself  in  line,  and  light  as  a  bird  dipped  for 
a  moment  upon  the  water.  A  small  boat  put  out  for 
them,  and  they  were  received  on  board  the  yacht  with 
grave  welcome  by  Mr.  Ray,  whose  simple  dress — so 
far  hitherto  from  proclaiming  itself  nautical  in  cut  or 
colour — now  appeared  perfectly  adapted  to  yachting. 
He  did  not  seem  to  do  the  host  here  any  more  than  at 
Captain  Butler's  table,  but  he  distinguished  Helen  as 
his  chief  guest,  with  a  subtle  accent  in  his  politeness 
that  gave  her  quick  nerves  something  of  the  pleasure  > 
of  a  fine  touch  in  music.  She  was  now  aware  that  she 
admired  Mr.  Ray,  and  she  wondered  if  he  did  not 
look  shorter  than  he  really  was. 

She  found  it  quite  in  character  that  he  should  have 
a  friend  on  board,  whom  he  had  not  mentioned  to 
any  of  them,  and  whom  he  now  introduced  in  his 
most  suppressed  tones.  The  friend  was  a  tall  young 
Englishman,  in  blue  Scotch  stuff;  and  Helen  decided 


62  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

at  once  that  his  shoulders  sloped  too  much ;  he  talked 
very  far  down  in  his  throat,  and  he  had  a  nervous 
laugh ;  Helen  discovered  that  he  had  also  a  shy, 
askance  effect  of  having  just  looked  at  you. 

Ray  asked  the  ladies  if  they  would  fish,  and  when 
they  would  not,  he  frankly  tried  to  entertain  them  in 
other  ways.  It  came  out  that  he  could  both  play 
and  sing;  and  he  picked  on  a  banjo  the  air  of  a 
Canadian  boat-song  he  had  learned  at  Gasp6  the 
summer  before.  That  made  the  girls  ask  him  to 
show  his  sketches  of  the  habitans,  and  Helen  thought 
them  very  good,  and  very  droll,  done  with  vigour 
and  chic.  He  made  the  afternoon  pass  charmingly, 
but  what  amused  Helen  most  was  Marian's  having 
already  got  his  tone  about  his  possessions  and 
accomplishments ;  her  instinct  would  not  suffer  her 
to  afflict  him  by  any  show  of  pride  in  them,  proud 
as  she  was  of  them  ;  and  on  the  yacht  there  was  no 
approach  to  endearments  between  them.  "  Really," 
thought  Helen,  "  Marian  will  be  equal  to  it,  after 
all,"  and  began  to  respect  her  sex.  After  supper, 
which  Ray  offered  them  on  board,  and  which  that 
one  of  the  men  who  could  broil  a  mackerel  pretty 
well  served  with  touches  of  exquisite  marine  cookery, 
Helen  felt  that  it  would  be  mean  to  refrain  any 
longer.  "  Marian,"  she  whispered  to  her  friend 
apart,  "he  ]&  perfect/"  and  Marian  looked  gratefully 
at  her  and  breathed  "Yes  !" 

Helen  was  generous,  but  the  proximity  of  this 
prosperous  love  made  her  feel  very  desolate  and 
left '  behind.  The  aching  tenderness  for  Robert, 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  63 

which  was  at  the  bottom  of  all  her  moods,  throbbed 
sorer ;  she  must  still  it  somehow,  and  she  began  to 
talk  with  the  Englishman.  As  she  went  on  she 
could  not  help  seeing  that  the  young  Butler  girls, 
innocently  wondering  at  her  under  their  bangs,  were 
suffering  some  loss  of  an  ideal,  and  that  Marian's 
averted  eyes  were  reflecting  Mr.  Ray's  disapproval, 
otherwise  hidden  deeper  than  the  sea  over  which 
they  sailed. 

The  Englishman,  after  a  moment  of  awkward 
hesitation  and  apparent  self-question,  seemed  to  fall 
an  easy  prey.  He  presently  hung  about  her  quite 
helplessly ;  but  his  helplessness  did  not  make  her 
pity  him.  "  So  nice,"  he  said,  as  they  sat  a  little 
apart,  after  Ray  had  attempted  a  diversion  with 
another  Canadian  barcarole,  "  to  be  able  to  do  some 
thing  of  that  kind.  But  it  isn't  very  common  in  the 
States,  is  it,  Miss — HarknessT' 

"  I  don't  understand.  Do  you  mean  that  we  don't 
commonly  know  Canadian  boat-songs?  I  don't 
suppose  we  do." 

"  No,  no  ;  I  don't  mean  that  /"  replied  Mr.  Rain- 
ford  ;  if  that  was  the  name  which  Helen  had  caught. 
"  I  meant  being  able  to  do  something,  you  know, 
to  keep  the  ball  rolling,  as  you  say." 

"Do  we  say  *  keep  the  ball  rolling'?"  Helen 
affected  to  muse. 

"  I  heard  it  was  an  Americanism,"  said  Mr.  Rain- 
ford,  laughing  at  the  pretence  she  made,  with  her 
downward  look,  of  giving  his  words  anxious  thought. 
"I  was  thinking  of  the  Canadians  when  I  spoke. 


64  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

They  seem  to  be  up  to  all  sorts  of  things.  I  was  at 
a  place  last  month — Old  Beach  or  Old  Orchard — 
something  like  that — where  the  Montreal  people 
come;  and  some  of  those  fellows  knew  no  end  of 
things.  Songs,  like  Mr.  Ray's;  and  tricks;  and — 
and — well,  I  don't  know." 

Helen  shook  her  head.  "  No,  we  don't  have  those 
accomplishments  in  the  States,  as  you  say.  We  're  a 
serious  people." 

"I  don't  know,"  laughed  Mr.  Rainford.  "You 
have  your  own  fun,  I  suppose." 

"  In  our  poor  way,  yes.  We  go  to  lectures,  and 
attend  the  public  school  exhibitions,  and — yes,  we 
have  our  amusements." 

Mr.  Rainford  seemed  carried  quite  beyond  himself 
by  these  ironical  impertinences.  "  Really,  I  can't 
admit  that  they  're  all  of  that  kind.  I  saw  a  good 
deal  of  an  amusement  at  the  sea-side  that  I  was  told 
was  not  very  serious." 

"Indeed!  What  could  it  have  been?"  asked 
Helen,  with  the  affectation  of  deep  interest. 

"  Oh,  surely  now,  Miss  Harkness,  you  don't  ex 
pect  me  to  explain  it.  All  the  young  people  seemed 
to  understand  it ;  the  Canadian  ladies  said  it  was  an 
American  institution."  She  did  not  help  him  on, 
and  he  had  to  get  out  of  the  affair  as  he  could.  He 
reddened  with  the  effort.  "I  must  say  it  seemed 
very  pleasant,  at  least  for  the  two  people  concerned." 

"Oh,  only  two  !"  cried  Helen. 

The  poor  young  man  laughed  gratefully,  and  took 
up  the  burden  of  silliness  which  she  now  left  wholly 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  65 

to  him.  "  Yes  ;  a  young  lady — always  very  charm 
ing — and — " 

' '  A  gentleman  always  very  brilliant  and  inter 
esting.  Oh,  yes ! "  She  turned  about  on  her 
camp-stool  with  an  unconscious  air,  and  began  to 
talk  to  the  young  Butler  girls.  She  had  provoked 
his  recognition  of  the  situation,  if  he  had  meant 
his  allusion  to  sea-side  flirtations  for  that,  but  her 
fretted  nerves  did  not  resent  it  the  less  because  she 
was  in  the  wrong.  She  could  have  said  that  there 
was  nothing  in  her  words,  and  afterwards  she  did 
say  so  to  herself;  but,  as  if  he  found  a  personal  edge 
in  them,  Mr.  Eainford  sat  quite  blank  for  a  moment ; 
then  after  some  attempts  at  self -recovery  in  talk  with 
the  others,  he  rose  and  went  below. 

"  Ned,"  said  Marian,  "  where  did  you  pick  up  that 
particularly  odious  Englishman  1 "  In  her  vexation 
with  Helen,  it  was  necessary  to  assail  some  one. 

"  He 's  a  very  good  fellow,"  said  Kay  quietly. 
"I  met  him  in  Cairo,  first.  He  's  very  clever;  and 
remarkably  well  up  in  Coptic — for  a  lord." 

All  the  Butlers  started,  as  if  to  pounce  upon  Ray. 
"  A  lord !"  they  hoarsely  breathed,  with  the  bitter 
sense  of  loss  natural  to  girls  who  might  never  see  a 
nobleman  again. 

"  }Vli\j  did  you  introduce  him  as  Mister1?"  de 
manded  Marian,  in  accents  expressive  of  the  common 
anguish ;  and  somehow  the  revelation  of  her  victim's 
quality  seemed  to  Helen  to  heighten  the  folly  and 
cruelty  of  her  behaviour ;  it  seemed  to  elevate  it 
into  a  question  of  international  interest. 

E 


66  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  I  said  Lord  Rainford,"  retorted  Ray. 

"  You  whispered  it !"  cried  Marian  bitterly. 

"  Well,  he  won't  mind  your  calling  him  Mr.  Rain- 
ford.  I  can  explain,"  said  Ray.  "Don't  change, 
now,"  he  added  mischievously. 

"  As  if  we  should  !"  indignantly  retorted  Marian. 
"  And  let  him  know  that  we  'd  been  talking  about 
him  !  No,  he  shall  remain  Mister  to  the  end  of 
the  chapter  with  us.  Are  you  going  to  bring  him 
to  the  house  ? " 

"I  'm  going  to  Salem  with  him  as  soon  as  I  put 
you  ashore.  I  'd  have  asked  you  to  let  me  bring  him 
to  lunch  if  I  'd  supposed  he  was  on  the  boat.  When 
I  left  him  at  Manchester  this  morning,  he  talked  of 
going  to  Boston  by  the  cars." 

"  I  think  he 's  hideous,"  said  Marian,  for  all  com 
ment  on  the  explanation. 

"  Not  pretty,  but  precious,"  returned  Ray  tran 
quilly.  "  He  's  a  good  fellow,  but  he  knows  he  isn't 
good-looking.  He 's  rather  sensitive  about  it,  and  it 
makes  him  nervous  ancil  awkward  with  ladies ;  but  he's 
a  very  sensible  fellow  among  men,"  Ray  concluded. 

There  was  a  little  unpleasant  pause,  and  then  Ray 
and  Marian  began  talking  eagerly  to  Helen,  as  if  they 
felt  a  little  ashamed,  and  a  good  deal  sorry  for  her, 
and  were  anxious  to  get  her  to  do  or  say  something 
that  would  bring  back  their  good  opinion  of  her. 

They  dropped  anchor  in  a  sheet  of  sunset  red  off 
Captain  Butler's  place,  and  Ray  pulled  them  ashore 
in  his  small  boat.  Some  of  them  tried  to  sing  the 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  67 

barcarole  he  had  played,  but  the  girlish  voices  thrilled 
sadly  over  the  glassy  tide,  which  was  softly  ebbing, 
and  leaving  more  and  more  bare  the  drowned-looking 
boulders,  heavily  tressed  with  the  dripping  golden 
brown  seaweed. 

Marian  sat  in  the  bow  of  the  boat,  and  as  she  rose 
and  stood  there,  holding  out  one  hand  to  Ray  to  be 
helped  ashore,  and  gathering  her  skirts  with  the 
other,  she  glanced  towards  the  house  :  "  Why,  who 
is  there  with  mamma  on  the  verandah  ?  Why,  it 
can't  be  papa  !" 

Helen  looked  round  over  her  shoulder  where  she 
sat,  and  now  they  all  looked,  Ray  turning  his  head 
and  mechanically  clasping  Marian's  hand. 

Captain  Butler  was  walking  up  and  down  before 
his  wife,  who  sat  listening  to  what  he  was  saying. 
He  was  talking  very  loud  and  very  fast,  with  a  sort 
of  passionate  vehemence  ;  his  tones  reached  them,  but 
they  could  not  make  out  his  words.  He  gesticulated 
as  if  describing  some  scene,  and  then  suddenly 
stopped,  and  threw  back  his  head,  and  seemed  to 
be  laughing. 

"  What  can  amuse  Captain  Butler  so  much  1 "  asked 
Helen,  with  a  smile.  At  the  same  time  she  saw  him 
draw  out  his  handkerchief  and  hide  his  face  in  it, 
and  sit  down  with  his  face  still  hidden.  The  panto 
mime  which  they  could  see  with  such  distinctness, 
and  of  which  they  yet  remained  so  ignorant,  some 
how  began  to  overawe  them.  Ray  quickly  helped 
them  from  the  boat.  "  I  am  going  up  with  you,"  he 
said,  and  with  a  glance  at  Marian,  "  Miss  Harkness," 


68  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

he  added,  "won't  you  take  my  arm  over  these 
rocks  r 

Helen  clung  heavily  to  him  as  she  tottered  up  the 
path.  "  I  wonder  what  has  brought  Captain  Butler 
to-night,"  she  said  tremulously.  "  He  wasn't  to  be 
here  till  Saturday." 

"  I  fancy  he 's  persuaded  your  father  to  come 
with  him,"  answered  Ray.  "  Look  out  for  that 
stone,  Miss  Harkness." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  papa  isn't  worse  again,"  said  Helen, 
stumbling  over  it.  She  hurt  herself,  and  was  glad 
of  the  pain  that  let  her  give  their  way  to  the  tears 
that  came  into  her  eyes. 

"  No ;  I  should  think  he  was  more  likely  to  be 
better,"  said  Kay,  refusing  to  see  her  trouble,  and 
really  lifting  her  along.  The  others  had  fallen 
behind  a  little,  and  these  two  had  now  reached  the 
gravel  drive  up  to  the  piazza  steps  alone. 

They  saw  a  quick  parley  between  the  Captain  and 
Mrs.  Butler,  and  he  stepped  in-doors  through  one  of 
the  long  windows,  while  she  came  forward  to  the 
rail,  and  called  out  to  Marian,  "  Your  father  wants 
all  of  you  to  go  to  the  other  door,  Marian." 

"Why,  mamma — "  began  Marian. 

"Go,  go!"  cried  her  mother.  "Don't  ask!— 
Edward,  bring  Helen  here ! " 

"  Yes,  it 's  some  little  surprise,"  said  Ray,  be 
ginning  to  laugh.  "Do  you  like  surprises,  Miss 
Harkness  r' 

"I  don't  believe  I  do,"  she  answered,  trying  to 
laugh  too. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  69 

Mrs.  Butler  came  forward  and  took  her  from  Ray, 
motioning  or  rather  looking  him  aside,  as  she  clasped 
the  girl  tight  in  her  arms.  At  this  moment  she  saw 
Captain  Butler  glance  stealthily  at  them  from  within 
the  room ;  his  face  was  contorted  and  wet  with  tears. 
"What— what  is  it,  Mrs.  Butler?"  she  gasped, 
weakly  pulling  back  a  little  from  her  close  embrace, 
and  facing  her. 

There  was  an  instant  in  which  the  elder  woman 
dwelt  upon  her  with  all  of  compassion  and  imploring 
in  her  eyes.  Then  she  said,  "  Death,  Helen.  Your 
father  is  dead  ! " 

Helen's  strength  came  back.  As  if  many  days 
had  passed  since  she  saw  him,  "  To-day  1 "  she  asked, 
still  holding  her  hand  against  Mrs.  Butler's  breast, 
where  she  had  pressed  it. 

"At  two  o'clock." 

Helen  softly  loosed  herself  from  Mrs.  Butler's  arms, 
and  sat  down  in  the  chair  near  which  they  stood, 
and  looked  out  upon  the  grounds  sloping  to  the 
water,  the  black  rocks  by  the  shore  ;  the  huger  rocks 
that  showed  their  backs  like  sleeping  sea-beasts  out 
of  the  smooth  water ;  the  yacht  darkening  against 
the  east;  far  beyond  the  rim  of  the  sea,  a  light 
just  twinkling  up  in  the  invisible  tower  at  the 
horizon's  verge.  A  thick  darkness  seemed  to  come 
down  out  of  the  sky  over  all,  but  Helen  would  not 
let  it  close  upon  her.  She  fought  the  swoon  away, 
and  looked  up  at  the  pitying,  suffering  face  above 
her. 

"  I  am  glad   you  told   me  at  once,  Mrs.  Butler. 


70  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Thank  you,"  she  said,  and  sank  back  in  her  chair, 
while  the  other  fell  on  her  knees  beside  her,  and 
gathered  her  to  her  heart  again,  and  wept  over  her. 

"  0  my  poor,  poor  child  !  It 's  the  one  certain 
thing  in  all  the  world.  It  mil  be  known,  and  it  will 
be  seen.  What  wouldn't  I  have  given  to  keep  it  from 
you  for  ever,  Helen  1  You  and  my  Marian  were 
babies  together.  I  used  to  know  your  mother.  You 
are  like  a  daughter  to  me."  Helen  passively  sub 
mitted  to  the  caresses,  to  the  kisses,  dropped  with 
tears  upon  her  pale  cheeks,  but  she  did  not  say 
anything,  or  try  to  reply.  "  But  it  was  not  to  be 
kept,"  Mrs.  Butler  went  on.  "It  could  not  be 
hidden,  and  it  seemed  the  mercifullest  and  best  way 
not  to  try  to  keep  it  from  you  in  foolish  self-pity  for 
a  moment,  more  or  less." 

"  O  yes,  yes,"  said  Helen,  like  another  person 
hearing  of  her  own  case.  "It  was  best,"  and  she 
found  herself  toying  with  the  strings  of  her  hat, 
curling  them  round  her  finger,  and  running  them  out 
in  a  long  roll. 

"  It  doesn't  kill,  my  dear.  It  brings  its  own  cure 
with  it.  It 's  sorrow,  but  it  isn't  trouble  !  It  passes 
over  us  like  a  black  wave,  but  it  doesn't  destroy  us. 
You  don't  realise  it  yet,  Helen,  my  poor  girl,  but 
even  when  you  do,  you  will  bear  it.  Put  your  head 
down  on  my  shoulder,  dear,  and  I  will  tell  you.  It 
was  in  his  office,  where  he  had  spent  so  many  years 
at  the  work  which  had  given  him  his  honoured  name 
and  place  in  the  world.  My  husband  was  there 
with  him.  They  were  turning  over  some  books 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  71 

together.     He  saw  your  father  put  his  hand  over  his 
heart,  and  then  your  father  sank  down  in  his  arm-    • 
chair,  and  gave. a  little  sigh,  and — that  was  all." 

Mrs.  Butler  broke  into  a  fresh  sobbing  on  the  girl's 
neck,  but  Helen  remained  silent  and  still,  letting 
herself  be  clutched  tight  to  that  loving  breast. 
"  There  was  no  pain,  Helen,  there  was  no  suffering. 
It  was  a  falling  into  rest.  But  before  he  rested — • 
before  he  drew  that  last  little  sigh,  my  dear — he 
spoke  one  word.  Do  you  know  what  it  was,  Helen1?" 
She  felt  the  girl  tremble,  and,  as  it  were,  lapse  in 
her  arms.  "  It  was  just  your  name  :  it  was,  '  Helen.' 
You  were  the  last  thing  in  his  thoughts  upon  earth 
— the  first  in  heaven." 

Helen  broke  into  a  long,  low  wail.  She  rose  from 
where  she  sat,  and  flung  off  the  kind  clinging  arms, 
as  if  their  pity  stifled  her,  and  fled  up  and  down  the 
verandah,  a  storm  of  grief  that  beat  forth  in  thick 
sobs,  and  escaped  in  desolate  moans. 

Mrs.  Butler  did  not  try  to  stay  her,  or  even  to 
approach  her,  as  she  wavered  to  and  fro,  and  wrung 
her  hands,  or  pressed  them  to  her  streaming  eyes. 
At  last,  after  many  moments,  as  long  as  hours  of 
common  life,  Helen  suddenly  checked  herself,  and 
dried  the  tears  that  drenched  her  face.  There  had 
come  the  lull  which  must  succeed  such  a  passion. 
She  stopped  before  Mrs.  Butler,  and  asked  in  a 
husky,  changed  voice,  "Isn't  there  any  train  up  to 
night  r 

"  Why,  Helen—" 

"  Because  if  there  is,  I  must  take  it.     I  know  what 


72  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

you  will  say,  but  don't  say  it.  If  you  try  to  stop 
me,  I  will  walk.  I  am  going  home" 

It  was  too  soon  yet  for  her  to  realise  that  she 
should  never  go  home  again,  but  the  word  went  to 
the  mother-heart  that  ached  for  her  with  the  full 
measure  of  its  tragic  irony,  and  she  perceived  with  a 
'  helpless  throe  of  compassion  how  alone  in  the  world 
this  fair  young  stricken  creature  stood. 

Ray  had  sent  word  to  his  English  friend  that  he 
should  not  join  him  again  on  board  the  yacht  that 
night,  briefly  explaining  the  trouble  that  kept  him, 
and  promising  to  see  him  again  on  the  morrow.  He 
directed  the  yacht  to  put  in  to  Salem,  as  had  been 
arranged,  and  instructed  his  men  to  tell  Lord  Rain- 
ford  about  the  trains  for  Boston.  He  was  with 
Captain  Butler  and  the  awe-stricken  girls  in  the 
parlour,  while  Mrs.  Butler  kept  Helen  on  the  verandah, 
and  he  had  gathered  from  the  captain  such  part  of 
the  story  as  he  had  not  already  divined. 

"  Edward  !"  called  Mrs.  Butler  from  without,  and 
he  went  to  her  where  she  stood  with  Helen,  now 
perfectly  silent  and  tearless.  "  Miss  Harkness  wishes 
to  go  home  to-night.  I  shall  go  with  her.  Mr. 
Butler  has  just  got  home,  and — "  She  hesitated  to 
say  before  Helen's  affliction  that  he  had  had  too 
hard  a  day  already,  and  she  could  not  let  him  incur 
the  further  excitement  and  fatigue ;  but  Ray  seemed 
'to  know. 

"  Captain  Butler  had  better   stay  here,"  he  said 

promptly,  "  and  let  me  go.     We  haven't  time  for  the 

»   seven  o'clock  at  Beverley,"  he  added,  glancing  at  his 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  73 

watch,  "  but  we  can  catch  the  eight  o'clock  express  at 
Salem  if  we  start  at  once." 

"lam  ready,"  said  Helen  quietly.  "My  trunk 
can  come  to-morrow.  I  haven't  even  unlocked  it." 

Ray  had  turned  away  to  ring  the  stable  bell. 
"Jerry,  put  my  mare  into  the  two-seated  phaeton. 
Don't  lose  any  time,"  he  called  out,  stopping  Jerry's 
advance  up  the  walk  for  orders,  and  the  phaeton  was 
at  the  steps  a  minute  or  two  after  Mrs.  Butler 
appeared  in  readiness  to  go. 

Helen  went  into  the  lighted  dining-room,  where 
Captain  Butler  and  the  girls  had  fearfully  grouped 
themselves,  waiting  what  motion  of  farewell  she 
should  make.  Her  face  was  pale,  and  somewhat 
stern.  She  went  round  and  kissed  them,  beginning 
and  ending  with  Marian,  and  she  did  not  give  way, 
though  they  each  broke  out  crying  at  her  touch,  or 
at  her  turning  from  them.  When  she  came  to  the 
Captain  she  put  out  her  arms,  and  took  him  into 
them,  and  pressed  herself  to  his  breast  in  a  succes 
sion  of  quick  embraces,  while  he  hid  his  face,  and 
could  not  look  at  her. 

"  Good-bye  all,"  she  said,  in  a  firm  tone,  and  went 
out  and  got  into  the  phaeton,  where  Mrs.  Butler  was 
sitting.  Ray  sprang  to  the  place  beside  the  driver. 
"Salem,  Jerry.  Quick!"  and  they  flew  forward 
through  the  evening  air,  cold  and  damp  in  currents, 
and  warm  in  long  stretches  over  the  smooth  road. 
She  smelt  the  heavy  scent  of  the  spiraea  in  the 
swampy  places,  and  of  the  milkweed  in  the  sand. 
She  said  no,  she  was  not  cln'lly,  to  Mrs.  Butler; 


74  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

and  from  time  to  time  they  talked  together :  about 
the  days  beginning  to  get  a  little  shorter  now,  and 
its  not  being  so  late  as  it  seemed.  Once  Eay 
struck  a  match  and  looked  at  his  watch,  and  the 
driver  looked  at  Ray,  who  said,  "  All  right,"  and  did 
not  say  anything  else  during  the  drive.  Again, 
after  silence,  Helen  spoke — 

"  You  know  I  wouldn't  let  you  come  with  me,  if 
I  could  help  it,  Mrs.  Butler." 

"  You  couldn't  help  it,  dear,"  answered  the  other. 
"Don't  talk  of  it." 

The  station  was  a  blur  and  dance  of  lights ;  she 
was  pushed  into  the  train  as  it  moved  away.  She 
sat  next  the  window  in  the  seat  with  Mrs.  Butler, 
and  Eay  in  the  seat  before  them.  He  did  not  look 
round,  nor  did  Mrs.  Butler  sit  very  close,  or  take  her 
hand,  or  try  in  any  futile  way  to  offer  her  comfort. 
The  train  seemed  to  go  forward  into  the  night  by 
long  leaps.  Once  it  stopped  somewhere  on  the  track 
remote  from  a  station,  and  Ray  went  out  with  some 
other  passengers  to  see  what  had  happened.  Helen 
was  aware  of  a  wild  joy  in  the  delay,  and  of  a  wish 
that  it  might  last  for  ever.  She  did  not  care  to  know 
what  had  caused  it.  As  the  cars  drew  into  the  Boston 
depot,  she  found  her  handkerchief,  soaked  with  tears, 
in  her  hand,  and  she  pulled  down  her  veil  over 
her  swollen  eyes. 

At  her  own  door,  she  said,  "  Well,  Margaret,"  like 
a  ghostly  echo  of  her  wonted  greetings,  and  found 
Margaret's  eyes  red  and  swollen  too. 

"  I  knew  you  would  come,  Miss  Helen,"  said  Mar- 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  75 

garet.  "  I  told  them  you  never  would  let  the  night 
pass  over  your  head." 

"  Yes,  I  would  come,  of  course,"  answered  Helen. 
She  led  the  way  back  into  the  library,  where  there 
were  lights,  and  where  the  study-lamp  burnt  upon 
the  table  at  which  last  night  she  had  sat  with  her 
father.  Then,  while  the  others  stood  there,  she  took 
up  the  lamp,  and  pushed  open  the  drawing-room 
doors,  as  she  had  seen  him  do,  and,  as  she  felt,  with 
something  of  his  movement,  and  walked  forward 
under  the  dimly-burning  gas  to  the  place  where  she 
had  known  he  would  be  lying.  Everything  had  been 
done  decorously,  and  he  appeared,  as  they  say,  very 
natural.  She  stood  with  the  lamp  lifted  high,  and 
looked  down  at  the  face,  slowly  and  softly  wiping 
the  tears,  and  shaken  now  and  then  with  a  sob. 
She  did  not  offer  to  kiss  or  touch  him.  She  turned 
from  the  clay  out  of  which  he  had  departed,  and 
walked  back  to  the  library,  where  it  seemed  as  if 
he  should  meet  her,  and  speak  to  her  of  what  had 
happened. 

There  were  Mrs.  Butler  and  Mr.  Ray,  and  behind 
them  there  was  Margaret.  She  felt  how  pitifully 
she  must  be  looking  at  them.  Some  one  caught  the 
lamp,  which  had  grown  so  light,  from  her  hand,  and 
some  one  had  thrown  up  the  window.  That  was 
right ;  she  should  not  faint  now ;  and  now  she  was 
opening  her  eyes,  and  Ray's  arm  was  under  her 
neck,  where  she  lay  upon  the  floor,  and  Mrs.  Butler 
was  dashing  her  face  with  cologne. 


IV. 

IN  those  days  Helen  came  to  understand  what  her 
father  had  meant  by  saying,  that  after  her  mother 
and  her  little  brothers  died,  the  house  seemed  full  of 
them,  and  that  it  did  not  make  him  afraid.  Now 
that  he  had  died,  the  house  seemed  full  of  him,  and 
she  was  not  afraid.  She  grew  to  be  weak  and  sore, 
and  almost  blind  from  weeping ;  but  even  when  she 
cowered  over  the  dead  face,  and  cried  and  moaned  to 
it,  it  seemed  something  earthly  and  perishable  in  her 
love  bewailing  only  the  earthly  and  perished  part  of 
him,  while  what  was  really  himself  beheld  her  grief 
with  a  high,  serene  compassion,  and  an  intelligence 
with  some  immortal  quiet  in  her  own  soul.  Whatever 
it  was,  whether  the  assurance  of  his  life  after  death,  or 
the  mere  blind  effect  of  custom,  prolonging  his  pre 
sence,  as  the  severed  nerves  refer  sensation  to  the 
amputated  limb,  and  rehabilitate  and  create  it  anew, 
this  sense  of  his  survival  and  nearness  to  her  was  so 
vivid  at  times  that  she  felt  as  if  she  might,  could  she 
but  turn  quickly  enough,  see  him  there  before  her ; 
that  the  inward  voice  must  make  itself  audible — the 
airy  presence  tangible.  It  was  strongest  with  her  that 
first  night,  but  it  did  not  cease  for  long  afterwards. 

76 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  77 

He  was  with  her  as  she  followed  him  to  the  grave ; 
and  he  came  back  with  her  to  the  house  from  which 
they  had  borne  him. 

In  this  sense  of  his  survival,  which  neither  then  nor  x 
afterwards  had  any  fantastic  quality  to  her,  she 
seemed  to  draw  nearer  to  him  than  ever  before. 
He  understood  now,  he  knew  the  depth  and  truth 
of  her  love,  through  all  her  vanities  and  follies. 
Something  inexpressibly  sweet  and  dear  was  in  this 
consciousness,  and  remained  always,  when  its  vivid 
ness  had  faded  with  the  keen  anguish  of  her  grief. 
Such  things,  the  common  experience  of  all  bereave 
ment,  are  hard  to  put  in  words.  Said,  they  seem 
crude  and  boastful,  and  more  than  what  is  felt ;  but 
what  is  felt  is  more  than  can  ever  be  said. 

Captain  Butler  came  up  the  morning  after  Helen's 
return  home,  and  he  and  Mrs.  Butler  remained  in 
the  house  with  her  till  all  was  over.  Marian  came 
up  too,  and  Ray  was  there  with  his  silent  vigilance, 
from  which  everything  seemed  done  without  his 
agency.  Helen  had  but  to  weep,  to  sorrow  up  and 
down  the  house  ;  they  gave  her  anguish  way,  and 
did  not  mock  it  with  words  of  comfort.  When  the 
tempests  of  her  grief  swept  over  her,  they  left  her  'to 
herself ;  when  the  calm  that  follows  such  paroxysms 
came,  they  talked  to  her  of  her  father,  and  led  her  to 
talk  of  him.  Then  she  was  tranquil  enough.  At 
some  droll  things  that  forced  themselves  into  remem 
brance  in  their  talk,  she  even  laughed  without  feeling 
it  treason  to  her  grief;  and  it  was  not  what  she 
thought  or  recalled  of  him  that  touched  the  springs 


78  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

of  her  sorrow.  It  was  meeting  Margaret,  downcast 
and  elusive  on  the  stairs,  and  saying  sadly  to  her, 
"  Well,  Margaret ; "  or  catching  sight  of  Captain 
Butler  sitting  opposite  her  father's  vacant  chair  in 
the  library,  his  grizzled  head  sunk  on  his  breast, 
and  looking  suddenly  aged,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
awkward  in  his  bereavement,  like  a  great  boy,  that 
moved  her  with  intolerable  pathos. 

Mrs.  Butler  went  home  and  had  out  the  headache 
which  she  had  kept  back  while  she  must,  by  force  of 
will,  but  every  day  some  of  them  came  up  to  see 
Helen,  and  reminded  her  without  urgence  that  she 
was  to  come  to  them  soon.  She  said  yes,  she  would 
come  very  soon,  and  so  remained  without  going 
abroad,  or  looking  into  the  light  of  the  sun.  At 
night,  when  she  lay  down  she  wept,  and  in  the 
morning  when  she  woke,  but  through  the  day  her 
tears  were  dried.  She  brooded  upon  what  her  father 
had  said  and  done  in  the  last  hours  they  had  spent 
together,  his  longing  for  change  and  for  a  new  life 
that  now  seemed  to  have  been  prophetic  of  death. 
His  weariness  of  the  house  that  had  been  his  home 
took  a  new  meaning ;  he  must  long  have  been  more 
in  the  other  world  than  in  this,  and  but  for  his 
pitying  love  for  her,  he  must  have  been  glad  when 
his  swift  summons  came.  She  realised  at  last  that 
he  had  been  an  old  man.  She  had  known  without 
realising  it  that  his  ways  were  the  ways  of  one  who 
has  outlived  himself,  and  who  patiently  remains  in 
the  presence  of  things  that  no  longer  interest  him. 
She  wondered  if  the  tie  by  which  she,  who  was  so 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  79 

wholly  of  the  earth,  had  bound  her  father  to  it,  had 
not  sometimes  been  a  painful  one.  She  remembered 
all  the  little  unthinking  selfishnesses  of  the  past,  and 
worse  than  these,  the  consolations  which  she  had 
tried  to  offer  him.  She  thought  of  the  gentleness 
with  which  he  always  listened  to  her  and  consented, 
and  ended  by  comforting  her;  and  she  bitterly 
accused  herself  for  not  having  seen  all  this  long  ago. 
But  she  had  not  even  seen  that  he  had  a  mortal 
disorder  about  him ;  she  had  merely  thought  him 
wearied  with  work,  or  spent  with  the  heat,  in  those 
sinkings  which  had  at  first  so  much  alarmed,  her. 
The  hand  carried  so  often  to  his  heart  that  she  now 
recognised  it  as  an  habitual  gesture,  had  given  her 
no  warning,  and  she  blamed  herself  that  it  had  not. 
But  in  truth  she  was  not  to  blame.  The  sources  of 
his  malady  were  obscure,  and  even  its  nature  had 
been  so  dimly  hinted  to  him  that  doubtless  her 
father  had  justified  himself  in  keeping  his  fear  of  it 
from  her.  Perhaps  he  had  hoped  that  yet  somehow 
he  could  struggle  to  a  better  footing  in  other  things, 
before  he  need  cloud  her  young  life  with  the  shadow 
that  hung  upon  his  own ;  perhaps  the  end  of  many 
resolutions  was  that  he  could  not  do  it.  She  won 
dered  if  he  had  himself  known  his  danger,  and  if  it 
was  of  that  which  he  so  often  began  to  speak  to  her. 
But  all  now  was  dark,  and  this  question  and  every 
other  searched  the  darkness  in  vain. 

She  seemed  to  stand  somewhere  upon  a  point  of 
time  between  life  and  death,  from  which  either  world 
was  equally  remote.  She  was  quite  alien  here, 


80  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

without  the  will  or  the  fitness  to  be  anywhere  else ; 
and  she  shrank,  with  a  vague  resentment,  from  the 
world  that  had  taken  him  from  her. 

This  terrible  touchstone  of  death,  while  it  revealed 
the  unimagined  tenderness  of  many  hearts,  revealed 
also  to  her  the  fact  that  no  friendliness  could  supply 
the  love  in  which  there  was  perfect  unity  of  interest 
and  desire,  and  perfect  rest.  Every  day,  when  the 
Butlers  came  to  her  they  brought  her  word  from 
some  one,  from  people  who  had  known  her  father 
in  business,  from  others  who  had  casually  met  him, 
and .  who  all  now  spoke  their  regret  for  his  death. 
A  rare  quality  of  character  had  given  him  standing 
in  the  world  that  vastly  greater  prosperity  could  not 
have  won  him  ;  and  men  who  were  of  quite  another 
stuff  had  a  regard  for  him,  which  perhaps  now  and 
then  expressed  itself  in  affectionate  patronage,  but 
which  was  yet  full  of  reverence.  They  found  some 
thing  heroic  in  the  quiet  constancy  with  which  he 
fought  his  long,  losing  battle,  and  now  that  he  was 
down  at  last,  they  had  their  honest  regrets  and  spoke 
their  honest  praises.  It  made  Helen  very  proud  of 
her  father  to  hear  them  ;  she  read  with  a  swelling 
heart  the  paragraphs  about  him  in  the  newspapers, 
and  even  the  formal  preambles  and  resolutions 
which  expressed  the  loss  the  commerce  of  the  city 
had  suffered  in  the  death  of  a  merchant  of  his 
standing  and  integrity.  These  things  set  Helen's 
father  in  a  new  light  to  her ;  but  while  they  made 
her  prouder  and  fonder  of  his  memory,  they  brought 
her  a  pang  that  she  should  have  known  so  little  of 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  81 

what  formed  his  life,  and  should  never  have  cared 
to  know  anything  of  it  apart  from  herself. 

This  was  not  the  only  phase  in  which  she  seemed 
to  have  been  ignorant  of  him.  She  had  always 
believed  him  good  and  kind,  without  thinking  of 
him  in  that  way.  But  now  there  came  poor  people 
to  the  door,  who  sometimes  asked  to  see  her,  or 
who  sometimes  only  sent  by  Margaret,  to  tell  how 
sorry  they  felt  for  her,  and  to  say  that  her  father 
had  at  this  time  or  that  been  a  good  friend  to  each 
of  them.  They  all  seemed  to  be  better  acquainted 
with  him  than  she,  and  their  simple  stories  set  him 
in  a  light  in  which  she  had  never  seen  him  before. 
It  touched  Helen  that  they  should  frankly  lament 
her  father's  death  as  another  of  their  deprivations, 
more  than  if  they  had  pretended  merely  to  condole 
with  her,  and  she  did  not  take  it  ill  of  them,  that 
they  generally  concluded  their  blessings  on  his 
memory  with  some  hint  that  further  benefactions 
would  be  gratefully  received.  The  men  accepted 
her  half-dollars  in  sign  that  their  audience  was 
ended,  and  went  away  directly;  the  women  shed 
tears  over  the  old  clothes  she  gave  them,  and  stayed 
to  drink  tea  in  the  kitchen. 

One  day  after  she  had  already  seen  three  or  four 
of  these  visitors,  the  bell  rang,  and  Captain  Butler's 
boots  came  chirping  along  the  hall,  not  with  their 
old  cheerful  hint  of  a  burly  roll  in  the  wearer's  gait, 
but  subdued  and  slow  as  if  he  approached  with  un 
naturally  measured  tread.  Helen  sprang  into  his 
arms,  and  broke  out  crying  on  his  breast.  "  Oh 
F 


82  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Captain  Butler  !  I  felt  just  now  that  papa  must  be 
here.  Ever  since  he  died  he  has  been  with  me  some 
how.  It  seems  wild  to  say  it ;  but  no  words  can 
ever  tell  how  I  have  felt  it ;  and  just  before  you 
came  in,  I  know  that  he  was  going  to  speak  to  me." 

The  Captain  held  her  away  at  arm's-length,  and 
looked  into  her  face.  "Poor  child!  They've  sent 
me  to  bring  you  home  with  me,  and  I  see  that  I 
haven't  come  a  moment  too  soon.  You  have  been 
alone  in  this  house  quite  long  enough.  My  God, 
if  he  only  could  speak  to  us  !"  The  Captain  con 
trolled  himself  as  he  walked  up  and  down  the  library, 
with  his  face  twitching,  and  his  hand  knotting  itself 
into  a  fist  at  his  side,  and  presently  he  came  and  sat 
down  in  his  accustomed  chair  near  Helen.  He 
waited  till  she  lifted  her  head  and  wiped  her  eyes 
before  he  began  to  speak. 

"  Helen,"  said  Captain  Butler,  "  I  told  you  that 
they  had  sent  me  for  you,  and  I  hope  that  you  will 
come." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Helen,  "  I  shall  be  very  glad  to 
go  with  you;  but  I  think  it's  hard  for  Marian, 
bringing  my  trouble  there,  to  be  a  blot  on  her 
happiness." 

"  We  won't  speak  of  that,  my  dear,"  said  the 
Captain.  "  If  Marian  can't  find  her  happiness  in 
something  besides  gaiety,  she  'd  better  not  think  of 
getting  married." 

"  I  wouldn't  come  if  I  thought  I  could  endure  it 
here  any  longer ;  I  wouldn't  come,  if  I  had  any 
where  else  to  go,"  cried  Helen. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  83 

"  We  wouldn't  let  you  go  anywhere  else,"  returned 
the  Captain.  "  But  we  can  talk  of  all  that  another 
time.  What  I  have  to  say  to  you  now  is  something 
for  you  to  decide.  Do  you  think  you  are  equal 
to  talking  a  little  business  with  me  1 " 

"  0  yes.     I  should  like  to." 

"  Yes,  it  will  take  up  your  mind." 

The  Captain  paused  restively,  and  seemed  at  a  loss 
liow  to  frame  what  he  had  next  to  say.  "  Helen," 
he  broke  out  abruptly,  "  did  you  know  anything 
about  your  father's  affairs  1 " 

"  Papa 's  affairs  1 "  asked  Helen,  with  a  start. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  troubled — don't  be  troubled,"  the 
Captain  hastened  to  say.  "  It 's  all  right ;  perfectly 
right ;  but  I  want  to  speak  to  you  a,bout  yourself, 
and — it 's  all  right.  Don't  you  think  we  'd  better 
have  one  of  these  windows  open  ?" 

"Are  they  shut?"  asked  Helen.  "Yes,  you  can 
open  them,  please." 

"  We  shall  be  cheerfuller  with  a  little  light,"  said 
the  Captain,  flinging  back  the  shutters;  but  they 
hardly  looked  so.  Helen  had  dark  rings  round  her 
eyes,  which  were  swollen  with  her  long  weeping; 
she  was  very  pale,  and  looked  old  in  that  black 
which,  in  a  house  of  mourning,  seems  to  grow  upon 
women  in  a  single  night.  She  thought  the  Captain 
tremulous  and  broken  ;  these  muscles  at  the  sides  of 
his  chin  hung  down,  as  if  ten  years  had  been  added 
to  his  age  in  the  last  fortnight.  They  made  a  feint 
of  finding  nothing  strange  in  each  other,  and  the 
Captain  resumed  as  he  sat  down  again  :  "  I  mentioned 


84  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

your  father's  affairs  because  there  has  to  be  some 
settlement  of  the  estate,  you  know ;  and  there  are 
circumstances  that  make  it  desirable  to  have  an 
early  settlement.  The  business  was  left  in  a  little 
confusion  ;  it 's  apt  to  be  the  case,"  Captain  Butler 
added  quickly. 

"  Yes,"  Helen  said,  "  papa  sometimes  spoke  of  the 
perplexity  he  felt  about  his  accounts." 

"Did  he  1"  asked  the  Captain  with  some  relief. 
"  Then  I  suppose  he  gave  you  some  idea  of  how  he 
stood." 

"  No  ;  he  merely  said  they  worried  him." 

"Well,  well.  I  don't  know  that  there  was  any 
occasion  to  tell  you,  any  occasion  for  alarm.  There 
seems  to  have  been  no  will;  but  that  makes  no 
difference.  The  law  makes  a  will,  and  you  get  wha.t 
there  is — that  is,  all  there  is."  The  Captain  had  a 
certain  forlorn  air  of  disoccupation,  which  now  struck 
Helen  more  than  what  he  was  saying. 

"  Would  you  like  to  smoke,  Captain  Butler  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  Why,  yes,  if  you  will  let  me,  my  dear,"  he 
said,  with  an  eager,  humble  gratitude,  putting  his 
hand  quickly  into  his  breast-pocket.  "I  didn't 
know — " 

Helen  rose,  and  placed  the  little  table  at  his  elbow, 
and  set  the  ash-holder  on  it,  as  she  had  done  that 
last  night  when  he  had  sat  there  with  her  father. 
They  looked  at  each  other  without  speaking. 

The  Captain  struck  his  match*  and  said  apologeti 
cally  between  the  long  whiffs  with  which  he  lit  his 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  85 

cigar,  "  I  talk  better  with  it,  and  I  have  some  things 
to  explain." 

He  paused,  and  sinking  back  into  his  chair 
with  a  sigh  of  comfort  which  brought  a  dim 
smile  into  Helen's  face,  presently  resumed  :  "  As 
there  is  no  will,  and  no  executpr,  there  will  have  to 
be  an  administrator.  Whom  should  you  like  ap 
pointed  ?  I  believe  the  Court  appoints  any  one  you 
wish." 

"  Oh,  you,  Captain  Butler ! "  replied  Helen  in 
stantly. 

"  I  expected  this,"  said  the  Captain,  "  and  I  sup 
pose  E  am  as  fit  as  any  one.  I  'm  sure  that  no  one 
could  care  more  for  your  father's  interests  and 
honour,  and  I  know  rather  more  of  his  affairs  than 
anybody  else.  You  will  have  to  make  your  wishes 
known  in  form  ;  but  that 's  easily  managed.  In  the 
meantime,  you  had  better  be  away,  don't  you  think, 
while  we  are  looking  into  things  1  I  don't  know 
what  there  is  to  do,  exactly ;  but  I  suppose  there  's 
to  be  some  sort  of  survey,  or  appraisal,  and — yes, 
you  had  better  be  away,  when  we  are  looking  into 
things." 

"  Do  you  mean — away  from  the  house  1 "  asked 
Helen. 

"Why,  yes,"  the  Captain  reluctantly  assented. 
"  It 's  a — form  ;  a  necessary  form." 

"It's  quite  right,"  said  Helen  positively.  "And 
— yes, — I  had  better  be  out  of  the  way." 

"  I  'm  glad  you  see  it  in  that  light,  my  dear,"  re 
turned  Captain  Butler.  "  You  're  a  good  girl, 


86  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Helen,  and  you  make  it  much  easier  for  me.  Pack 
up  everything  that  belongs  to  you,  and  go  as  if  you 
were  going  to  stay."  The  Captain  made  a  ghastly 
show  of  heartiness,  and  smoked  without  looking  at 
Helen.  "  Run  over  the  house,  and  put  together  all 
the  things  that  you  would  like  to  retain,  and  I  '11 
see  that  they  come  down."  Helen  was  trying  to 
catch  his  eye,  and  he  was  keeping  his  gaze  fixed 
upon  the  ceiling. 

"  I  don't  think  I  need  do  that,"  said  Helen ;  "  I 
should  merely  have  to  bring  them  back  with  me." 

Captain  Butler  took  his  oigar  from  his  mouth  in 
compassion,  as  he  now  looked  at  her  puzzled  face. 
"  We  don't  mean  you  should  come  back,  my  dear 
child.  We  want  you  to  stay  with  us." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  do  that,"  said  Helen  quickly. 

"You  can't  go  on  living  here  alone,"  retorted  the 
Captain. 

"  No,"  Helen  ruefully  assented,  and  faced  Captain 
Butler  in  touching  dismay. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  that  you  must  submit. 
And,  Helen,"  he  said  with  a  show  of  brisk,  business 
like  cheerfulness  "  /  think  you  had  better  sell  this 
house.  If  I  were  you,  I  should  sell  it  at  once. 
You  '11  never  get  more  for  it." 

"  Why,  what  would  become  of  Margaret  1"  gasped 
Helen. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Butler  has  been  talking  of  that 
We  want  a  cook,  and  we  will  take  Margaret." 

Helen  simply  looked  bewildered.  The  Captain 
apparently  found  it  better  to  go  on  while  she  was  in 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  87 

this  daze  than  await  her  emergence  from  it.  "And 
if  I  were  you,  I  would  sell  the  furniture  and  pictures 
and  all  the  things  that  you  have  not  some  particular 
association  with ;  everything  of  that  sort  I  should 
keep."  Helen  still  made  no  comment,  and  the 
Captain  went  on.  "I  know  all  this  is  very 'painful, 
Helen—" 

"  It  isn't  painful,"  said  Helen  quietly.  "  It  was 
papa's  wish  to  sell  the  house.  We  were  talking  of 
it  that  night — the  night  before —  He  thought  of 
building  in  the  country." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Captain  Butler. 
"  Then  we  can  push  right  ahead  and  do  it." 

"  It 's  very  sudden,  though,"  faltered  Helen. 
"  Poor  Margaret !  What  will  she  say  1" 

"  We  will  hear  what  she  will  say,"  cried  the 
Captain,  ringing  the  bell  before  Helen  could  stop  him. 
Margaret  answered  it,  drying  her  hands  on  her 
apron,  as  she  came  in,  and  then  with  a  prescience  of 
the  coming  interview,  resting  them  folded  upon  that 
prop  with  which  nature  in  process  of  time  provides 
the  persons  of  most  cooks.  "Margaret,"  said  the 
Captain,  "  Miss  Helen  is  going  to  break  up  house 
keeping.  She  is  coming  to  us.  Mrs,  Butler  wished 
me  to  ask  you  to  come  too." 

Margaret  pursed  her  mouth,  and  bent  forward  so 
far  over  the  natural  provision  as  to  catch  sight  of  the 
toe  of  her  neatly  shod  small  foot.  "  Should  you 
like  to  come  ? "  asked  the  Captain. 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  should  feel  the  change,"  said  Mar 
garet. 


88  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  Of  course,"  retorted  the  Captain  shortly.  "  There 
is  going  to  be  a  change,  and  you  would  feel  it.  We 
understand  that.  But  you  know  me,  and  you  know 
Mrs.  Butler,  and  you  know  whether  you  would  have 
a  good  place." 

"  It  would  be  a  good  place,"  said  Margaret,  still 
surveying  her  slipper.  "  But  I  think  I  should  feel 
the  change  more  and  more." 

"Well,"  said  the  Captain  impatiently,  "do  you 
mean  yes,  or  no  ?" 

"I  think  I  should  feel  the  change,"  replied  Mar 
garet. 

The  Captain  was  nonplussed  by  this  dry  response 
to  his  cordial  advance,  and  he  waited  a  moment 
before  he  asked :  "  Have  you  any  other  place  in 
view?" 

"  I  had  arranged,"  said  Margaret  calmly,  "  to  go 
to  a  cousin's  of  mine  that  lives  in  the  Port ;  and  then 
advertise  for  some  small  family  in  Old  Cambridge 
where  they  only  keep  one  girl." 

Helen  had  felt  hurt  by  Margaret's  cold  foresight 
in  having  already  so  far  counted  the  chances  as  to 
have  looked  out  for  herself ;  but  at  this  expression  of 
Margaret's  ruling  passion,  she  could  not  help  smiling. 

The  Captain  gave  an  angry  snort.  "  Very  well, 
then,"  he  said,  "  there  is  nothing  to  .do  but  to  pay 
you  up,  and  let  you  go,"  and  he  took  out  his  pocket- 
book.  "  How  much  is  it  1" 

"  There  isn't  anything  coming  to  me,"  Margaret 
returned  with  the  same  tranquillity  ;  "  Mr.  Harkness 
paid  me  up." 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  89 

"  But  he  didn't  pay  you  up  to  the  present  time," 
said  the  Captain. 

"  I  should  wish  to  consider  Miss  Helen  my  guest 
for  the  past  two  weeks,"  said  Margaret,  in  the  neat 
ness  of  an  evidently  thought-out  speech. 

The  Captain  gave  a  laugh;  but  Helen,  who  knew  all 
Margaret's  springs  of  action,  and  her  insuperable  pride, 
interposed  :  "  You  'may,  Margaret,"  she  said  gently. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Helen,"  said  Margaret,  lifting 
her  eyes  now  for  the  first  to  glance  at  Helen.  She 
turned  with  a  little  nod  of  self-dismissal,  and  went 
back  to  the  kitchen,  leaving  the  Captain  hot  and 
baffled. 

It  was  some  moments  before  he  spoke  again. 
"  "Well,  then,"  he  said ;  "  about  selling  the  house  : 
do  you  know,  Helen,  I  think  it  had  better  be  sold  at 
auction  1  It  might  be  tedious  waiting  for  a  private 
sale,  and  real  estate  is  such  a  drug,  with  the  market 
falling,  that  you  might  have  to  lose  more  on  it  aftei 
waiting  than  if  you  forced  it  to  a  sale  now.  How  do 
you  feel  about  it  1 " 

The  finesse  that  the  Captain  was  using  in  all  the 
business,  wreathing  the  hard  legal  exigencies  of  the 
case  in  flowers  of  suggestion  and  counsel,  and  putting 
on  all  a  smiling  air  of  volition,  could  never  be  fully 
known,  except  to  the  goodness  that  inspired  it ;  but 
he  was  rewarded  by  the  promptness  with  which 
Helen  assented  to  everything. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  do  whatever  you 
think  is  best,  Captain  Butler,"  she  answered.  "  I 
have  no  feeling  about  the  house — it 's  strange  that  I 


90  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

shouldn't  have — and  I  don't  care  how  soon  it  is  sold, 
nor  how  it  is  sold." 

The  Captain  instantly  advanced  a  step  further. 
"  Perhaps  you  wouldn't  care  to  come  back  to  it  at 
all,  any  more  1  Perhaps  you  could  put  your  hand 
on  what  you  'd  like  to  keep,  and  I  could  look  after 
it  for  you,  and —  He  stopped  at  seeing  Helen 
change  countenance.  "  Well  1" 

"  Did  you  think  of  selling  the  furniture  too  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  Why,  yes,"  assented  the  Captain.  "  I  said  so  just 
now.  I  'm  afraid  you  'd  find  it  a  burden  after  the 
house  was  gone.  You  'd  have  to  store  it,  you  know. 
Still,  if  you  don't  wish  it — 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Helen,  drawing  a  long  breath,  "  it 
had  better  go  !"  She  spoke  with  a  gentle  submis- 
siveness  that  smote  the  Captain  to  the  heart. 

"  You  can  keep  everything  you  want,  my  dear — 
you  can  keep  it  all ! "  he  returned  vehemently. 

"That  would  be  silly,"  said  Helen.  "Besides, 
there  are  very  few  things  I  should  want  to  keep.  I 
couldn't  keep  papa's  things :  they  're  terrible.  I 
should  like  you  to  take  everything  that  belonged  to 
him,  Captain  Butler — except  his  watch  and  his  Bible 
— and  give  them  to  some  poor  people  that  could  use 
them.  Then  I  only  want  my  own  things ;  and  per 
haps  his  chair,  and —  Helen  stopped,  and  the 
Captain,  not  to  look  at  her,  cast  a  roving  eye  about 
the  room. 

"Those  Copleys,  of  course,  you  would  reserve,"  he 
remarked  presently. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  91 

"  No,"  said  Helen,  "  I  never  saw  the  people.  You 
can  sell  them.  But  I  shall  keep  my  mother's  picture, 
because  I  think  papa  would  like  me  to." 

The  sense  of  her  father's  presence  expressed  in 
these  words  touched  the  Captain  again.  He  cleared 
his  throat,  but* he  was  still  hoarse  in  saying,  "I  think 
the  Museum  would  buy  the  Copleys."  Helen  seemed 
too  indifferent  about  their  fate  to  make  any  repty. 

The  worst  was  now  over.  Captain  Butler  had 
accomplished  all  that  he  wished  without  being  obliged 
to  explain  anything  to  Helen,  or  to  alarm  her  fears 
in  any  way,  and  he  was  unreasonably  heartened  by 
the  fact.  He  might,  perhaps,  have  stated  the  whole 
truth  to  her  ignorance  of  affairs  without  being  much 
more  intelligible  than  he  had  been  with  all  these 
skilful  evasions.  If  he'  had  said,  "  Your  father  died 
with  his  business  in  the  utmost  confusion,  and  pro 
bably  insolvent,"  she  would  scarcely  have  realised 
that  life  was  not  to  go  on  just  as  before ;  and  if  he 
had  said,  "  You  are  left  a  beggar,"  how  could  Helen 
Harkness  have  conceived  of  herself  in  the  figure  of 
one  of  the  women  who  had  dropped  their  tears  into 
their  tea-cups  in  the  kitchen,  as  they  cried  over  the 
old  clothes  she  had  given  them  ?  It  had  wrung  the 
Captain's  heart  to  hear  her  talk  of  poor  people,  and  y 
of  giving ;  and  yet,  he  rose  from  his  chair,  when  he 
saw  Helen  still  safe  in  her  ignorance,  with  something 
like  cheerfulness. 

"  You  just  make  a  memorandum  of  what  you  'd  like 
reserved,  Helen,"  he  said,  "  and  I  '11  attend  to  it  for 
you.  Put  your  own  little  traps  together,  and  I  '11 


92  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

send  a  carriage  to  take  you  down  to  the  four  o'clock 
train.  Anything  you  think  of  afterwards  of  course 
will  be  kept  for  you.'" 

He  left  her  to  this  task.  It  was  at  least  something 
to  do,  and  Helen  went  about  it  with  an  energy  which 
she  was  surprised  to  find  in  herself.  At  first  the  re 
proach  with  which  the  silent  house  seemed  to  use  her 
indifference  smote  upon  her,  but  it  did  not  last  long. 
Home  had  died  out  of  it,  as  life  had  gone  out  of  her 
father's  dust ;  and  neither  house  nor  grave  was  any 
thing  to  her.  She  passed  from  room  to  room,  and 
opened  closets  and  drawers,  and  looked  at  a  hundred 
things.  She  ended  in  despair  by  choosing  a'  very  few. 
If  she  could  not  keep  all,  why  should  she  want  any  1 
Whatever  it  seemed  desecration  to  sell  she  put  on  her 
memorandum  to  be  given  away.  She  selected  a  large 
number  of  things  for  Margaret,  and  when  she  sat  down 
at  the  old  Bostonian  half-past  two  o'clock  dinner  (to 
which  her  father  had  always  kept),  she  told  Margaret 
what  sh.e  had  done.  Margaret  took  one  or  two  little 
trinkets  which  Helen  offered  her  in  her  hand,  and 
declined  the  other  gifts. 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Margaret?"  asked 
Helen.  "  Why  don't  you  take  them  1 " 

"  I  shouldn't  wish  to,  Miss  Helen,"  said  Margaret, 
pursing  her  mouth. 

"  Well,  have  your  own  way,"  returned  Helen.  "  I 
suppose  this  is  another  of  your  mysteries." 

"  I  should  wish  to  do  everything  properly,  Miss 
Helen." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  properly  ?    Why  do  you 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  93 

Miss  Helen  me,  all  the  time  1  What  made  you  so 
stiff  with  Captain  Butler  1  and  he  so  kind  ! " 

"  Captain  Butler  is  a  very  pleasant  gentleman,"  said 
Margaret,  in  her  neatest  manner,  "but  I  shouldn't 
wish  him  to  think  it  was  quite  the  same  as  going  on 
here." 

"  You  're  very  foolish.  It  would  have  been  a  nice 
place." 

"  I  wished  him  to  understand  that  I  felt  it  a 
change. " 

"Well,  well!"  cried  Helen  impatiently.  "You 
must  do  as  you  please,  but  you  needn't  have  been  so 
cross." 

Helen's  nerves  were  beginning  to  give  way,  and 
she  went  on  childishly.  "  You  act  just  as  if  we  were 
going  to  be  together  always.  Do  you  know  that  I  'm 
going  away  now,  and  not  coming  back  any  more  1" 

"Yes,  Miss  Helen," 

"  And  do  you  think  this  is  the  way  to  treat  me  at 
the  last  moment  1  Why  don't  you  take  the  things  V 

"I  shouldn't  wish  to  be  under  a  compliment,  Miss 
Helen." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  being  under  a  compli 
ment  r 

"I  shouldn't  wish  to  be  beholden." 

"  Oh,  you  shouldn't  wish,  you  shouldn't  wish  ! 
This  is  too  bad  !"  whimpered  Helen.  "  What  am  I 
but  under  a  compliment  to  you,  as  you  call  it  1  I 
didn't  think  you  'd  behave  so  at  the  last  moment. 
But  I  see.  You  're  too  proud  for  anything,  and  you 
never  did  care  for  me." 


94  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"Oh,  Miss  Helen  !" 

"  Yes  !  And  go  to  your  cousin's, — the  quicker  the 
better — and  have  your  own  cross  way.  I  'm  sure  1 
don't  care,  if  you  '11  be  the  happier  for  it.  I  can  tell 
you  what  you  are,  Margaret :  you  're  a  silly  goose, 
and  you  make  every  one  hate  you.  The  charm's 
broken  between  us, — quite  ;  and  I  'm  glad  of  it." 

Margaret  went  out  without  saying  anything,  and 
Helen  tried  to  go  on  with  her  dinner,  but  failed,  and 
began  her  inventory  again,  and  at  last  went  to  her 
room  and  dressed  for  her  journey.  She  came  down 
into  the  library  just  before  starting,  and  rang  for 
Margaret.  When  the  cook  appeared,  the  young  girl 
suddenly  threw  her  arms  round  her  neck.  "  Good 
bye,"  she  sobbed  out,  "you good,  old,  wicked,  foolish, 
stuck-up  Margaret.  I  'm  glad  you  didn't  come  to  the 
Butlers',  it  would  have  killed  me  to  see  you  there ! 
Good-bye,  good-bye !  Remember  your  poor  little 
Helen,  Margaret,  and  come  to  see  me  !  I  can't  bear 
to  look  into  the  kitchen  !  Say  good-bye  to  it  for  me  ! 
Oh  my  poor  old  slighted  happy  home  !  Oh  rny  home, 
my  home,  my  home  !  Good-bye,  good-bye,  good-bye  !" 
She  ran  wildly  through  the  well-known  rooms,  and 
bade  them  adieu  with  heart-breaking  farewells ;  she 
stooped  down  and  kissed  the  lounge,  on  which  her 
father  used  to  lie,  and  spread  out  her  empty  arms 
upon  it,  and  laid  her  homeless  head  where  his  had 
rested.  At  the  sound  of  the  bell  she  sprang  up,  and 
opened  the  door  herself,  and  fled  dowTn  the  steps,  and 
into  the  carriage,  shrinking  into  the  furthest  corner, 
and  thickly  hiding  her  face  under  her  black  veil 


95 

She  seemed  to  herself  part  of  a  vast  train  of  events, 
without  control,  without  volition,  save  the  will  to 
obey.  She  did  what  she  was  bid,  and  the  great 
movement  went  on.  Somewhere  must  be  arrest, 
somewhere  repose,  but  as  yet  she  cou-ld  not  foresee  it, 
and  she  could  only  yield  herself  to  the  forces  carrying 
her  forward.  She  was  going  to  the  Butlers'  because 
Captain  Butler  had  told  her  to  come ;  she  had 
assented  to  everything  he  proposed  because  he  had 
seemed  to  wish  it ;  but  she  felt  that  he  was  as  power 
less  as  she  in  the  matter.  If  he  had  proposed  every 
thing  of  contrary  effect,  she  must  still  have  yielded 
the  same. 

Captain  Butler  joined  her  at  the  station  half-an- 
hour  after  she  had  left  home,  and  just  in  time  to  step 
aboard  the  train  with  her.  He  was  hot  and  looked 
vexed.  When  he  got  his  breath  a  little,  "  Do  you 
know,"  said  he,  "  that  old  fool  hasn't  made  any  bills  ]" 

"  What  old  fool  ]"  asked  Helen  passively. 

"  Margaret  !"  replied  the  Captain,  with  a  burst. 
"Didn't  you  understand  that  she  meant  merely  to 
refuse  her  wages  for  the  last  two  weeks,  when  she 
said  she  wished  to  consider  you  her  guest  T' 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Helen. 

"Well,  she  meant  a  great  deal  more,"  cried  the 
Captain.  "I've  been  round  to  the  butcher  arid 
baker  and  all  the  rest,  to  settle  their  accounts,  and  I 
find  that  she  's  paid  for  everything  since  we  left  you. 
But  I  shall  have  it  out  with  her.  It  won't  do.  It 's 
ridiculous  !" 

"  Poor  Margaret !"  said  Helen  softly.     She  under- 


96  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

stood  now  the  secret  of  Margaret's  intolerable  state- 
liness,  and  of  her  reluctance  to  mar  her  ideal  of 
hospitality  by  accepting  a  reciprocal  benefit.  It  was 
all  very  droll  and  queer,  but  so  like  Margaret  that 
Helen  did  not  want  so  much  to  laugh  as  to  weep  at  it. 
She  saw  that  Captain  Butler  was  annoyed  at  the  way 
she  took  the  matter,  and  she  thought  he  would  have 
scolded  her  at  any  other  time.  She  said  very  gently  : 
"  We  must  let  her  have  her  way  about  it,  Captain 
Butler.  You  couldn't  get  her  to  take  the  money 
back,  and  you  would  only  hurt  her  feelings  if  you 
tried.  Perhaps  I  can  do  something  for  her  some 
time." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  're  actually  going  to  stand 
it,  Helen?" 

"  Yes,  why  not  ?  It  isn't  as  if  anybody  else  did  it 
for  me — any  equal,  you  know.  I  can't  feel  that  it 's 
a  disgrace,  from  Margaret ;  and  it  will  do  her  so 
much  good — you  Ve  no  idea  how  much.  She 's  been 
with  us  ever  since  I  was  born,  and  surely  I  may 
accept  such  a  kindness  from  an  old  servant,  rather 
than  wound  her  queer  pride." 

The  Captain  listened  to  these  swelling  words  with 
dismay.  This  poor  girl,  at  whose  feet  he  saw  desti 
tution  yawning,  was  taking  life  as  she  had  always 
done,  en  princesse.  He  wondered  what  possible  con 
ception  she  had  formed  of  her  situation.  Sooner  or 
later  he  must  tell  her  what  it  was. 


V. 

CAPTAIN  BUTLER  believed  that  his  old  friend 
had  died  a  bankrupt ;  he  represented  the  estate  as 
insolvent,  and  the  sale  of  the  property  took  place  at 
the  earliest  possible  day.  A  red  flannel  flag,  on 
which  the  auctioneer's  name  was  lettered,  was  hung 
out  from  the  transome  above  the  front  door,  and  at 
ten  o'clock  on  a  dull  morning  when  the  sea-turn  was 
beginning  to  break  in  a  thin,  chilly  rain,  a  long 
procession  of  umbrellas  began  to  ascend  the  front 
steps,  where  Helen  had  paused  to  cast  that  look 
of  haughty  wonder  after  the  retreating  policeman. 
The  umbrellas  were  of  all  qualities,  from  the  silk 
that  shuts  into  the  slimness  of  a  walking-stick,  to 
the  whity-brown,  whale-bone  ribbed  family  umbrella, 
under  which  the  habitual  auction-goer  of  a  certain 
size  and  age  repairs  to  her  favourite  amusement. 
Many  of  the  people  had  a  suburban  look,  and  some 
even  the  appearance  of  having  arrived  by  the  Fitch- 
burg  railroad ;  but  there  was  a  large  proportion  of 
citizens,  and  a  surprising  number  of  fashionably 
dressed  ladies,  who,  nevertheless,  did  not  seem  to 
be  of  that  neighbourhood ;  they  stared  curiously 
about  them,  as  if  they  had  now  for  the  first  time 
G 


98  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

entered  a  house  there.  They  sat  down  in  the  sad 
old  parlour,  and  looked  up  at  the  pictures  and  the 
general  equipment  of  the  room  with  the  satisfied  air 
of  not  finding  it  after  all  any  better  than  their  own. 
One  large  and  handsome  woman,  whose  person 
trembled  and  twinkled  all  over  with  black  bugles, 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  had  the  effect 
of  stamping  upon  the  supposed  pride  of  the  place. 
People  were  prowling  all  over  the  house,  from  cellar 
to  garret,  peering  into  closets  and  feeling  of  walls 
and  doors;  several  elderly  women  in  feeble  health 
were  to  be  met  at  the  turns  of  the  stairways,  pressing 
their  hands  against  their  chests,  and  catching  their 
breath  with  difficulty.  Few,  apparently,  of  the  con 
course  had  come  to  buy ;  but  when  the  sale  began 
they  densely  thronged  the  rooms  in  which  the  bidding 
successively  went  on,  and  made  it  hard  for  one 
another  to  get  out  of  the  packed  doorways.  The 
whole  morning  long  the  auctioneer  intoned  his  chant 
of  "A  half,  and  a  half  and  half,  do-I-hear-the-three- 
quarters?"  varied  with  a  quick  "Sold!"  as  from  time 
to  time  he  knocked  off  this  lot  or  that.  The  cheaper 
carpets,  chairs,  beds,  and  tables  were  bought  for  the 
most  part  by  certain  fading  women  who  bid  with  a 
kind  of  reluctant  greed,  and  got  together  each  her 
store  of  those  mismated  moveables  which  characterise 
furnished  lodgings.  They  wore  cheap  camel's  hair 
wraps  and  thread  gloves ;  others,  who  seemed  poor 
mothers  of  families,  showed  their  black  stubbed 
finger-tips,  pressed  anxiously  together  outside  the 
ed^es  of  imitation  India  shawls,  and  bid  upon  the 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  99 

kitchen  crockery.  The  Copleys  were  bought,  as 
Captain  Butler  had  expected,  by  the  Museum  of  Fine 
Arts ;  the  other  paintings  were  bought  by  men  who 
got  them  low  to  sell  again,  and  in  whose  ruinous 
bazaars  they  were  destined  to  consort  with  second 
hand  refrigerators  and  strips  of  dusty  carpeting. 

Captain  Butler  would  gladly  have  stayed  away 
from  the  auction,  but  his  duty  in  the  matter  was  not 
to  be  avoided.  Helen  had  given  him  a  list  of  things 
to  be  reserved  from  the  sale,  which  she  had  made 
out  under  two  heads.  The  first  was  marked  "For 
self,"  and  this  was  very  short,  and  easily  managed 
by  setting  the  things  aside  before  the  sale  began. 
But  the  list  of  articles  "  To  be  given  away,"  was  on 
a  scale  which  troubled  the  Captain's  conscience,  while 
it  forlornly  amused  him,  by  its  lavish  generosity; 
the  girl  had  done  charity  to  an  extent  that  wronged 
the  creditors  of  the  estate,  and  that  put  it  quite 
beyond  Captain  Butler's  power  to  humour  her  unwit 
ting  munificence  by  purchasing  the  things  to  give 
away.  He  used  a  discretion  with  which  he  invested 
himself,  to  put  all  the  valuable  articles  up  at  the  sale, 
and  bestowed  in  charity  only  the  cheaper  matters  on 
Helen's  list.  Even  then,  the  auction  was  an  expen 
sive  affair  to  him.  He  was  unable  to  let  certain 
things,  with  which  he  intimately  associated  his  old  * 
friend,  pass  into  the  hands  of  strangers,  especially 
things  connected  with  the  India  trade.  He  bought 
the  Chinese  vases  and  bronze  monsters,  the  terra 
cotta  statues  and  ivory  carvings,  the  outlandish 
weapons,  and  Oriental  bricabrac,  which  in  the  age 


100  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

of  Eastlake  mantel-shelves,  then  setting  in  with 
great  severity,  he  discovered  to  be  in  great  request. 

His  dismay  increased  as  these  costly  and  worthless 
treasures  accumulated  upon  his  hands,  for  his  house 
was  already  full  of  them,  to  the  utmost  capacity  of 
its  closets  and  out-of-the-way  corners.  Besides,  he 
laid  himself  open  to  the  suspicion  of  bidding  in,  and 
remained  under  that  doubt  with  many.  He  had 
a  haughty  way  of  outbidding  that  stood  him  in  no 
good  stead,  and  went  far  to  convince  the  crowd  that 
all  the  sales  to  him  were  sham. 

The  auction,  which  began  in  the  basement,  as 
cended  through  the  several  stories,  wandering  from 
room  to  room  till  it  reached  the  remotest  attic 
chamber.  Then,  all  the  personal  property  had  been 
sold,  and  it  descended  again  to  the  first  floor,  where 
the  crowd  was  already  much  thinner  than  at  first, 
and  was  composed  mainly  of  respectable-looking 
citizens  who  had  come  to  bid  on  the  house,  or  to 
see  how  much  it  would  bring.  The  fashionably- 
dressed  women  were  gone ;  it  was  not  long  before 
the  last  auction-goer's  whity-brown  umbrella,  ex 
panded  after  the  usual  struggle,  went  down  the  front 
steps,  and  round  the  next  corner.  The  auctioneer 
took  his  stand  in  the  parlour  before  the  pier-glass, — 
into  which  Helen  looked  that  day  to  see  whether 
her  trouble  with  Robert  had  changed  her, — with  th;j 
long  windows  of  the  swell- front  on  either  side  of 
him.  He  was  a  young  man,  eager  to  win  his 
reputation.  He  had  been  praised  to  Captain  Butler 
as  a  frightfully  vulgar  wretch,  who  could  get  him 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  101 

more  for  the  property  than  any  other  auctioneer 
in  the  city,  and  the  Captain  had  taken  him  with 
certain  misgivings.  As  he  now  confronted  his 
respectable  audience,  he  kept  his  hat  a  little  aslant ;  . 
he  had  an  unlighted  cigar  in  his  left  hand,  which 
he  put  into  his  mouth  from  time  to  time,  and  chewed 
upon  nervously ;  his  eyes  shone  with  a  gross, 
humorous  twinkle,  and  his  whole  face  expressed 
a  reckless  audacity,  and  a  willingness  to  take  other 
people  into  the  joke  of  life's  being  a  swindle,  anyway. 
"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  feel  honoured  in  being 
the  instrument,  however  humble,  of  offering  this 
property  to  your  consideration ;  this  old  family 
mansion,  rich  in  tradition  and  association,  in  the  very  x 
heart  of  the  most  select  quarter  of  Boston.  You 
have  already  examined  the  house,  gentlemen,  from 
attic  to  cellar,  you  have  seen  that  it  is  in  perfect 
repair,  and  that  it  has  no  concealments  to  make — 
'  nothing  extenuate  nor  aught  set  down  in  malice/ 
as  our  coloured  brother  says  in  the  play.  I  will 
not  insult  your  intelligence,  gentlemen,  by  dwelling  < 
upon  its  entire  soundness.  Built  forty  years  ago, 
it  is  this  day  a  better  house  than  the  day  its  founda 
tions  were  laid — better  than  nine-tenths  of  the 
gaudy  and  meretricious  conceptions  of  modern  archi 
tecture.  Plain,  substantial,  soberly  elegant, — these, 
gentlemen,  are  its  virtues,  which,  like 

'  A  bold  peasantry,  their  country's  pride, 
When  once  destroyed,  can  never  be  supplied.' 

Gentlemen,  I  will  not  ask  your  attention  to  the  eligible 


102  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

position  of  the  house.  I  see  none  but  Boston  faces 
here,  and  I  am  proud  to  take  it  for  granted  that  you 
need  no  instrrctions  from  me  upon  this  point.  When 
I  say  that  this  is  one  of  the  best  sites  on  Beacon 
Hill,  I  say  everything.  You  know  the  value  of  the 
location,  you  know  the  character  of  the  social  sur 
roundings, — you  know  what  I  mean,  and  all  that  I 
mean.  I  do  not  appeal  to  strangers  here.  I  appeal 
to  the  old  Boston  blood,  animated  by  a  generous 
ttffection  for  our  city  and  its  history,  and  unwilling 
to  see  dishonour  cast  upon  her  by  the  sale,  even  in 
these  ruinous  times,  of  a  property  in  her  midst  at 
less  than  its  full  value.  Gentlemen,  I  feel  that  you 
will  stand  by  me  in  this  matter;  and  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  opening  the  sale  with  a  bid  of  $10,000. 
Is  this  so,  Mr.  Wetherall  T 

The  gentleman  addressed,  in  the  midst  of  the 
laughing  crowd,  nodded  slightly. 

The  auctioneer  looked  keenly  at  the  faces  in  an 
irregular  semicircle  before  him.  "  With  a  bid  of 
$10,000  from  Mr.  Wetherall,"  he  resumed.  "Mr. 
Wetherall,  gentlemen,  does  not  want  the  property, 
and  he  does  not  dream  of  getting  it  at  a  sixth  or 
seventh — in  any  other  times  I  should  say  a  tenth— 
of  its  value.  But  he  does  not  choose  that  it  shall  be 
disgraced  by  the  offer  of  anyignobler  sum ;  and,  gentle 
men,  if  Mr.  Wetherall  had  not  made  this  bid  I  should 
have  made  it  myself  in  good  faith.  I  am  offered 
ten  thousand,  ten  thousand,  ten  thous — eleven,  from 
Mr.  Wheeler.  You  don't  want  the  property  either, 
Mr.  Wheeler,  but  I  thank  you  nevertheless.  Eleven, 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  103 

eleven,  eleven— do  I  hear  the  twelve  1  Twelve  from 
Mr.  White.  The  W.'s  are  doing  well,  but  we  must 
mount  higher  yet  in  the  alphabet.  Twelve,  do  I 
hear  the  thirteen  1  Five  hundred  !  Thanks  :  twelve 
five,  twelve  five — thirteen.  Going  at  thirteen,  at 
thirteen — fourteen  !  This  is  something  like,  gentle 
men  ;  this  is  very  good  as  a  genteel  relaxation ;  four 
teen  has  its  merits  as  part  of  the  joke ;  but,  gentle 
men,  we  must  not  give  too  much  time  to  it.  We 
must  come  to  business,  before  long ;  we  must  indeed. 
I  am  willing  to  accept  these  ironical  bids  for  the 
present,  but — fifteen,  did  you  say,  Mr.  Newell? 
Thank — you  for  fifteen.  I  am  offered  fifteen,  fifteen, 
fifteen,  by  an  eminent  American  humorist ;  fifteen, 
fifteen,  going  at  fifteen  1  Oh  come,  gentlemen ! 
Some  one  say  twenty,  and  let  the  sale  begin  seriously." 
Nobody  had  bidden  twenty,  but  at  that  moment  a 
greedy-eyed,  nervous  little  man,  with  a  hot  air  of 
having  hurried  to  arrive,  wedged  his  way  through 
the  people  who  filled  the  doorway,  and  entered  the 
opener  space  inside  with  a  bid  of  five  hundred.  A 
roar  of  laughter  rewarded  his  ardour,  and  the 
auctioneer  instantly  went  on  :  "  Twenty  thousand, 
five  ;  twenty  thousand,  five.  Now  we  are  really 
warming  to  the  work.  We  have  reached  the  point 
at  which  blood  begins  to  tell.  Twenty  thousand, 
five  from  Mr.  Everton — do  I  hear  the  twenty-one  1 
Yes,  right  again ;  I  do  hear  the  twenty-one,  and 
from  Mr.  Newell,  who  redeems  his  reputation  from 
the  charge  of  elegant  trifling,  and  twenty-two  from 
Mr.  White,  who  also  perceives  that  the  time  for 


104  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

jesting  is  past.  Going  at  twenty-two,  at  twenty-two, 
twenty-two !  Do  I  hear  twenty-three  1  No,  only 
twenty-two,  three ;  I  regret  to  say  it  is  only  twenty- 
two,  three." 

A  quick  succession  of  small  bids  now  ran  the  sum 
up  to  twenty -four  thousand,  at  which  point  it  hung 
in  spite  of  all  the  devices  of  the  auctioneer  to  urge  it 
beyond.  "  Going,  going,  going," — he  swung  his  right 
hand  threatingly  above  the  open  palm  of  his  left — 
"  going  to  Mr.  White  at  twenty -iou?  thousand  dollars  ! 
Are  you  all  done1?"  He  scanned  the  crowd,  and 
pierced  it  to  the  outer  circle  with  his  audacious  glance. 
"Going  at  twenty-four  thousand  dollars  to  Mr. 
White.  Are  you  all  done,  twice  ?  Are  you  all  done, 
three  times'?  Going  once,  going  twice,  going — 
Gentlemen,"  said  the  auctioneer,  putting  his  cigar 
in  his  mouth  and  his  thumbs  in  his  waistcoat-pockets, 
and  addressing  them  in  a  low,  impassioned  tone, 
"  Gentlemen,  it 's  no  money  for  it !  I  should  feel 
ashamed,  personally  disgraced,  if  this  property  went 
for  such  a  sum.  I  should  know  that  it  was  owing  to 
some  fault  of  mine,  some  failure  on  my  part  to  im 
press  its  value  upon  you.  But  I  have  trusted  to  your 
own  sagacity,  to  your  own  intelligence,  to  the  fact 
that  you  are  all  Boston  men,  and  thoroughly  ac 
quainted  with  the  prices  of  adjacent  property,  and 
the  worth  of  this.  I  may  have  deceived  myself;  but 
I  appeal  to  you  noiv,  gentlemen,  not  to  let  me  suffer 
by  the  confidence  I  have  reposed  in  you.  My  pro 
fessional  repute  is  in  your  hands.  If  this  estate  goes 
at  $24,000  I  am  a  ruined  man."  A  general  laugh,  in 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  105 

which  the  auctioneer  himself  joined  so  far  as  to  smile, 
met  this  appeal.  He  ran  his  eye  over  the  assembly. 
Suddenly  he  exclaimed,  "  Thank  you,  Mr.  Everton ! 
Was  it  twenty-six ! "  He  leaned  forward  over  his 
desk,  and  beamed  with  a  flattering  gratitude  upon 
the  new-comer. 

"No,  twenty-four,  fifty,"  replied  Mr.  Everton  in  a 
weak,  dry  voice. 

"Thank  you  all  the  same,  Mr.  Everton.  You  are 
none  the  less  my  preserver.  Thank  you  for  twenty- 
four,  fifty.  We  breathe  again.  Twenty-four,  fifty, 
— do  I  hear  the  five  ^  Twenty-four,  fifty, — will 
you  give  me  the  five?  Twenty-five,  very  good, 
twenty-five  thousand,  twenty- five,  twenty-five — just 
one-fourth  of  the  worth  of  the  estate  in  prosperous 
times.  Now  let  me  hear  the  twenty-six  !  Gentle 
men,"  said  the  auctioneer,  again  breaking  from  his 
chant,  and  lowering  his  voice  to  the  colloquial  tone, 
"  you  all  know  the  old  story  of  the  sibyl  and  her 
books :  how,  when  she  came  with  nine  copies  in  the 
first  instance,  she  asked  a  sum  which  struck  the 
officials  as  a  fancy  price ;  how  she  went  away  and 
burnt  three  of  the  edition  and  then  asked  twice  the 
original  price  for  the  six ;  and  how,  when  she  had 
burnt  three  more,  they  were  glad  to  take  the  rest  off 
her  hands  at  her  own  terms.  We  have  here  a 
parallel  case." 

"  Don't  see  the  parallel,"  said  one  of  the  crowd. 

"  Don't  you,  Mr.  Eogers  1  Well,  you  will,  pre 
sently,  when  you  Ve  failed  to  buy  this  property  for 
half  the  money  that  you  'd  be  glad  to  offer  the  pur- 


106  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

chaser  for  his  bargain.  Do  I  hear  twenty- six  from 
you,  Mr.  Rogers  1 "  Mr.  Rogers  laughed  arid  nodded. 
"Twenty-six  it  is  from  Mr.  Rogers.  Twenty-six, 
twenty-six,  twenty-six,  will  you  give  me  the  seven  V 
He  went  on  crying  this  sum  in  varying  tones  of  exulta 
tion,  reproach,  and  persuasion  for  several  minutes. 
Again  and  again  he  brought  himself  to  the  point  of 
knocking  off  the  house  at  that  price,  and  then  retired 
from  it  upon  some  fresh  pretence  of  having  heard  a 
higher  bid.  But  none  came,  or  could  be  made  to 
seem  to  have  come ;  every  one  to  whom  he  turned 
with  a  questioning  look  shook  his  head  in  prompt 
denial.  The  auctioneer's  mobile  countenance  took 
on  an  air  of  deep  discouragement.  He  threw  aside 
his  mallet,  and  pulled  down  his  waistcoat.  "  I  won't 
sell  this  property  at  that  price.  I  suppose  there  are 
men  in  this  city  who  would  do  it,  but  /  won't.  Captain 
Butler,  I  should  like  a  word  with  you."  He  came 
down  from  his  perch,  and  retiring  to  a  corner  with 
the  Captain  talked  with  him  in  a  dumb  show  of  bitter 
and  passionate  appeal.  When  he  again  mounted  to 
his  place,  he  wore  a  look  of  grim  despair.  "  Well, 
gentlemen,  I  have  done  my  best  to  persuade  Captain 
Butler  to  withdraw  the  property,  and  stop  this  bloody 
sacrifice."  The  crowd  laughed  and  the  auctioneer's 
eye  twinkled.  "  But  he  feels  bound  by  the  terms  of 
his  notice  to  you  to  let  the  sale  proceed.  The  pro 
perty  will  be  sold  without  reserve.  Now  let  us  see 
whether  you  will  meet  him  in  the  same  magnanimous 
spirit."  Captain  Butler  looked  on  in  blank  amaze 
while  this  statement  was  making;  but  an  intenser 


A  WOMAN'S   REASON.  107 

surprise  was  painted  upon  the  face  of  Mr.  Wetherall 
as  the  auctioneer  proceeded  :  "  Twenty-seven,  twenty- 
seven." 

"  Twenty-six  was  the  last  bid,"  said  a  bystander. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  retorted  the  auctioneer  severely, 
a  I  don't  think  I  deceived  myself  in  a  nod  from  my 
friend  Mr.  Wetherall.  Twenty-seven  !  " 

Mr.  Wetherall  seemed  struggling  to  open  his 
petrified  mouth  in  protest,  when  Mr.  Everton  quickly 
bid  twenty-seven  five  hundred.  Mr.  Wetherall 
turned  sharply  upon  him  and  bid  twenty-eight. 
The  keen  auctioneer  scented  their  rivalry,  and  played 
upon  it  so  artfully  that  in  five  minutes  the  property 
was  going  at  thirty  thousand  to  Mr.  Everton.  He 
came  to  the  third  going,  in  his  thrice-repeated  warn 
ing,  when  he  once  more  paused,  and  leaning  forward, 
bent  a  look  of  pitying  incredulity  upon  the  faces 
before  him.  "  Gentlemen,"  he  asked  in  an  accent  of 
soft  reproach,  "  is  this  Boston  ?  " 

His  audience  again  roared  their  pleasure,  and  the 
auctioneer,  leaving  his  place,  stepped  forward  and 
personally  approached  several  gentlemen  of  the  group 
in  a  conversational  tone.  "  Mr.  Wetherall,  am  I 
going  to  have  nothing  more  from  you  1  Mr.  White, 
what  do  you  say  1  You  know  this  house  is  worth 
more  than  thirty  thousand,  and  whoever  buys  it  will 
have  a  dozen  people  after  him  to-morrow  offering  to 
take  his  bargain  off  his  hands  at  an  advance.  Mr. 
Merritt,  we  haven't  heard  from  you  at  all  yet, 
I  believe.  You  've  been  enjoying  the  show  for 
nothing  :  it  isn't  your  custom  to  dead-head  yourself 


108  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

on  these  occasions.  And  you,  sir, — I  can't  call  your 
name,  but  I  know  your  face ;  I  've  seen  it  in  State 
Street  often — can't  I  get  a  bid  out  of  you  ] "  The 
gentleman  addressed  coloured,  and  shrank  further 
back  in  the  crowd.  The  auctioneer  smiled  in  perfect 
good-humour,  and  turned  away  for  another  word 
with  Captain  Butler  in  private. 

"Captain,"  he  whispered,  "Mr.  Everton  is  going 
to  buy  this  property.  Do  you  think  he  will  stand 
another  five  thousand  1" 

Captain  Butler,  who  seemed  in  a  sort  of  daze, 
said,  "  I  don't  believe  he  will.  But  if  you — " 

"  I  '11  get  it,"  said  the  auctioneer  briskly,  and  re 
turned  to  his  work,  into  which  he  struck  with  a  sudden 
and  startling  energy.  "  Going  at  thirty  thousand, 
go — .  Thirty-one,  thirty-one,  thirty-one;  at  thirty- 
two;  thirty  two,  five;  thirty-three,  thirty-three — and 
five;  thirty-four  !"  He  clashed  off  the  bids  with  a 
rapid  confidence  that  would  have  inspired  belief  in  the 
most  sceptical.  Mr.  Wetherall  bid  thirty-four  thou 
sand  five  hundred,  and  was  instantly  topped  by  Mr. 
Everton  at  thirty-five.  "  Thirty-five,  thirty-five, 
thirty-five,"  cried  the  auctioneer,  "going  at  thirty- 
five  thousand,  going,  going,  going,  and  sold — given 
away — to  Mr.  Everton  ! " 

Mr.  Everton  came  forward,  with  a  half-frightened 
look,  and  laid  down  the  money  necessary  to  secure 
his  purchase,  and  received  a  provisional  deed  of  the 
property. 

"Look  here  !"  said  Captain  Butler,  as  soon  as  he 
could  get  the  auctioneer  aside,  "  I  didn't  hear  any  of 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  109 

these  bids  till  Wetherall's  last."    The  Captain  looked 
troubled  and  unhappy. 

The  auctioneer  laid  a  re-assuring  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  "  You  haven't  got  a  practised  ear,  Captain 
Butler.  /  have.  Mr.  Everton  has  got  a  great  bar 
gain.  But  it  was  hard,  working  up  to  that  final 
point." 


VI. 

"  WHAT  perplexed  me  the  most  about  it,"  said  the 
Captain  to  Mrs.  Butler,  when  he  came  home  the  day 
after  the  sale,  "was  that  the  auctioneer  had  so 
misrepresented  his  first  talk  with  me.  He  never 
asked  me  to  withdraw  the  property  at  all ;  he  knew 
I  couldn't;  he  merely  offered  to  bet  me  that  he 
would  get  thirty  thousand  for  it.  Well!  I  don't 
see  what  I  could  do  about  it.  I  couldn't  have 
proved  that  the  bids  were  fictitious,  and  the  attempt 
to  try  would  have  made  a  great  scandal.  That 's  the 
way  Hibbard  looks  at  it;  I  went  to  him  for  advice; 
I  put  the  case  to  him,  and  he  says  that  there 's  no 
way  of  going  back  of  the  fact,  for  the  auctioneer 
would  swear,  to  save  himself,  that  he  heard  the  bids, 
or  thought  he  did.  Most  probably  he  did;  it  was  all 
confusion;  and  my  not  having  heard  them  proves 
nothing  at  all.  Besides,  Everton  was  not  obliged 
to  bid  thirty-five  thousand,  and  he  did  get  a  great 
bargain.  The  property  is  worth  fifty,  in  any  decent 
times.  And  that  extra  five  thousand  is  a  perfect 
godsend  for  Helen,  poor  girl !  It 's  all  she  '11  have 
in  the  world.  I  tell  you,  my  dear,  I  haven't  had 
many  things  in  life  that  gave  me  more  satisfaction 


no 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  Ill 

than  meeting  the  principal  creditors  to-day.  You 
see,  when  I  looked  into  his  affairs  with  Joshua  the 
day  he  died  I  was  very  badly  discouraged.  They 
were  all  in  confusion ;  he  seemed  to  have  lost  his 
grip  of  them;  I  suppose  it  was  his  failing  health, 
but  he  couldn't  make  head  or  tail  of  anything ;  and 
when  I  was  appointed  administrator  I  reported  the 
estate  insolvent.  It  was  precipitate — 

"It  was  like  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Butler. 
"  You  never  believe  that  anything  is  wrong  till  you 
believe  that  everything  is  wrong." 

"  Well,  well — very  likely,"  returned  the  Captain. 
"I  had  what  I  thought  very  good  reasons  for  my 
course.  But  afterwards  I  set  a  shrewd  hand  at  work 
on  the  books,  and  we  found  out  that  things  were 
very  much  better,  as  I  told  you  at  the  time.  When 
a  man's  affairs  are  in  such  confusion  as  Joshua's,  the 
confusion  is  usually  against  him,  but  in  this  case  it 
was  mostly  for  him.  There  wasn't  a  day  after  I 
reported  the  estate  insolvent  that  the  case  didn't 
brighten.  If  it  had  been  any  other  cage,  I  should 
have  been  mortified  at  the  way  things  turned  out. 
To  be  sure,  I  didn't  believe  there  'd  be  anything  for 
Helen,  but  before  the  sale  I  saw  that  unless  the 
property  went  for  nothing  the  estate  would  pay  all 
Joshua's  debts,  dollar  for  dollar.  This  morning  we 
called  a. meeting  of  the  creditors.  They  had  the 
notion  they  were  going  to  lose,  and  they  were 
prepared  for  that.  When  I  told  them  how  matters 
really  stood  they  were  tremendously  taken  aback. 
But  they  had  behaved  very  handsomely  all  along, 


112  A  WOMAN'S   REASON. 

out  of  respect  for  Joshua's  memory,  and  they  came 
out  strong  now  about  him,  and  said  such  things — 
well,  /can't  tell  you,"  said  the  Captain.  "But,"  he 
added  confusedly,  "I  wish  Harkness  could  have 
been  there  !" 

"  Perhaps  he  was,"  said  Mrs.  Butler  devoutly. 

"  Eh?"  cried  the  Captain  sharply.  "Ah!  Yes! 
Well,,  perhaps.  Old  Eogers  asked  me  to  wait  a 
minute,  and  they  had  a  little  confabulation  among 
themselves,  and  then  Rogers  came  forward  and  asked 
if  there  would  be  anything  left  for  Helen.  Then  I 
told  them  the  estate  had  yielded  $5000  more  than 
the  indebtedness,  so  far  as  I  knew  of  it ;  and  we  had 
congratulations  all  round,  and  if  Joshua  had  been 
alive  to  resume,  he  might  have  started  business  again 
on  a  better  basis  than  ever  he  had  in  his  life.  I  wish 
— confound  it ! — I  could  be  sure  about  those  bids." 

"Why,  my  dear ! "  cried  his  wife,  "you  talk  as  if  some 
fraud  had  been  really  committed.  Can't  you  look  at 
it  as  Mr.  Hibbard  does  ?  Probably  the  man  did  hear 
the  bids.  He  wouldn't  have  dared  to  pretend  that  he 
heard  them;  it  wouldn't  have  been  safe  for  him." 

"  No,"  said  the  Captain  thoughtfully.  "  Why,  of 
course  not,"  he  added  briskly,  after  a  moment.  "  Of 
course  you're  right  about  it.  He  wouldn't  have 
dared.  Where  's^Helen  ?" 

He  went  down  and  found  Helen  on  the  rocks  by 

the  sea,   where   she    often  strayed    apart   from  the 

others ;    they   did   not   follow    her,  they  respected 

1  her  right  to  what  solitude  she  would.     Her  sorrow 

was  no  longer   a  thing  of  tears  and  sobs;    but  it 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  113 

was  no  more  comprehensible  than  at  first;  her 
bereavement  still  seemed  the  one  great  unreasoned 
fact  of  the  universe.  She  turned  the  pathos  of 
her  bewildered  smile  upon  the  Captain,  as  she  heard 
him  climbing  the  rocks  behind  her,  and  rose  to 
meet  him. 

"  No,  sit  down,"  he  said.  "  I  want  to  have  a  little 
talk  with  you,  Helen,  as  your  man  of  business." 

"You're  my  man  of  business  as — as— papa  was," 
said  Helen,  with  a  grateful  look. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,  for  that,"  answered  the 
Captain.  "  I  've  only  tried  to  do  what  he  would 
have  done  for  my  girls.  I  don't  know,  my  dear, 
whether  I  had  ever  given  you  the  idea  that  your 
father  was  in  embarrassed  circumstances  ? " 

"  0  yes;  I  knew  that,"  said  Helen. 

"  Well,  we  won't  enlarge  upon  the  fact.  It  isn't 
necessary.  Would  you  like  me  to  go  into  particulars 
about  the  settlement  of  the  estate  ? " 

"  No,"  answered  Helen,  "that  isn't  necessary  either. 
I  shouldn't  be  any  the  wiser  if  you  did.  Tell  me 
whatever  you  think  I  ought  to  know,  Captain 
Butler." 

"I  was  very  much  afraid,  my  dear,"  said  the 
Captain,  "  when  I  began  to  look  into  your  father's 
affairs  that  there  would  be  nothing,  or  worse  than 
nothing,  left."  This  did  not  seem  to  affect  Helen  as 
a  matter  of  personal  concern,  and  the  Captain  went 
on  :  "  There  was  a  time  when  I  was  afraid  that  the 
creditors  would  not  get  more  than  seventy-five  per 
cent,  of  their  money,  and  might  be  very  glad  to  get 

H 


114  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

that."  Helen  looked  round  at  the  Captain  with  a 
quick  glance,  as  if  here  were  something  that  touched 
her.  "  But  as  I  got  along  towards  the  bottom, 
things  looked  better,  and  I  saw  that  unless  the  sale 
turned  out  very  badly,  we  should  save  ourselves. 
The  sale  turned  out  far  beyond  my  expectations. — 
Helen,"  cried  the  Captain,  "the  prospect  now  is  that 
I  shall  pay  up  every  cent  that  your  father  owed  in 
the  world,  and  have  some  five  thousand  dollars  left 
for  you." 

"Oh,  Captain  Butler  !" 

"  It  isn't  a  great  sum — " 

"  It's  more  than  I  dared  to  dream  of  !" 

"  But  if  it 's  carefully  handled,  it  can  be  made  to 
go  a  great  way." 

"  Oh,  it 's  ample,  ample  !  But  I  don't  care  for 
that.  What  I  think  of — and  I  feel  like  going  down 
on  my  knees  for  it — is  that  no  one  loses  anything 
by  papa.  He  would  rather  have  died  than  wronged 
any  one,  and  that  any  one  should  have  suffered 
by  him  after  he  was  helpless  to  repair  the  wrong, 
that  wrould  have  been  more  than  the  bitterness 
of  death  to  me.  Oh,  I  'm  so  happy  about  this, 
Captain  Butler;  you  can't  think  how  much  more  of 
a  comfort  it  is  than  anything  else  could  have  been  !  " 

"  You  're  a  good  girl,  Helen,"  said  the  Captain, 
with  a  reverent  fondness  ;  "  you  're  your  father's 
girl,  my  dear.  He  would  have  died  a  rich  man  if 
he  had  not  stood  by  people  whom  he  knew  to  be  in 
a  bad  way,  because  they  had  helped  him  long  ago, 
when  it  was  no  risk  for  them  to  do  so." 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  115 

"He  was  right!"  cried  Helen.  "He  would  not 
have  been  papa  if  he  had  done  less." 

"  I  should  not  have  said  he  was  right,"  said  Cap 
tain  Butler,  "  if  he  had  not  believed  that  he  had 
already  put  you  beyond  want.  He  had  insured  his 
life  for  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  in  the  Metro 
politan  Reciprocal ;  but  that  went  to  pieces  two 
years  ago." 

"That's  nothing.  I  couldn't  have  managed  so 
much  money,"  promptly  answered  Helen.  "  The  five 
thousand  will  be  enough,  and  more  than  enough,  for 
my  utmost  desires.  I  'm  not  extravagant.  I  can  get 
on  with  very  little,  and  this  is  wildly  abundant." 

The  Captain,  from  rejoicing  in  her  mood,  suddenly 
looked  aghast,  as  if  a  terrible  idea  had  presented 
itself.  "  You  understand,  Helen,"  he  said,  "  that  it 
will  be  some  time  yet — six  months  at  least — before  I 
can  place  the  money  due  you  at  your  disposal.  It 
isn't  certainly  due  you  till  all  the  creditors  have  had 
full  notice  to  present  their  claims,  and  these  have 
been  passed  upon  by  the  commissioners." 

"  Oh,  that  makes  no  difference,"  said  Helen. 
"  I  'm  in  no  haste  for  the  money." 

"  And  you  understand,"  pursued  the  Captain,  as 
if  this  were  really  the  point  he  wished  to  insist  on, 
"  that  it  is  only  five  thousand  1" 

"0  yes,  I  understand  perfectly,"  quickly  an 
swered  the  girl,  and  then  she  stopped,  and  cast,  a 
keen  glance  at  the  Captain,  without,  however,  seem 
ing  to  perceive  his  chopfallen  aspect  :  she  was, 
perhaps,  looking  deeper. 


116  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  You  haven't  brought  any  more  letters  for  me, 
I  suppose  1 "  she  said. 

"No,  I  must  have  got  everything  the  last  time," 
replied  the  Captain.  "  I  went  carefully  through  all 
the  drawers  again  before  the  sale  began." 

"  I  shall  ask  you  to  take  care  of  those  law-papers 
for  me,  Captain  Butler ;  I  don't  know  what  to  do 
with  them.  The  letters  were  all  recent  ones.  I 
thought  there  might  have  been  some  old  ones.  Not 
that  I  have  missed  any.  But  you  did  sometimes 
lose  home  letters  when  you  were  off  on  those  long 
voyages  of  yours,  didn't  you  '? " 

"  No,  very  few,"  the  Captain  responded.  "  We 
get  them  nearly  all,  sooner  or  later." 

"But  sometimes  they  had  to  wander  about  after 
youl" 

"Yes,  sometimes.     And  sometimes  they  waited." 

"  It  must  have  been  terribly  distressing,"  said 
Helen,  "  to  wait  for  them." 

"Well,"  returned  the  Captain,  " that  depended  a 
good  deal  on  whom  the  letter  was  from."  Helen 
flushed  a  little.  "There  were  some  letters  that  I 
shouldn't  have  cared  if  I  'd  never  got.  But,  generally 
speaking,  the  fellows  in  the  navy  had  the  advantage 
of  us  in  the  merchant  service." 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  said  Helen. 

"  Oh,  their  letters  were  addressed  to  them  through 
the  Navy  Department,  and  of  course  they  came  the 
straightest  and  safest  way.  I  recollect  once  at  Singa 
pore,"  and  the  Captain  went  on  with  much  circum 
stance  to  give  a  case  in  point.  Helen  had  furnished 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  117 

him  a  thread  of  associations  which  the  Captain  * 
never  willingly  dropped.  She  listened  at  first 
with  interest,  then  patience,  then  respect.  At  last 
she  said  it  was  getting  a  little  chilly,  and  Captain 
Butler  agreed  that  it  was.  They  went  back  to  the 
house  together,  and  parted  on  the  piazza,  where 
Helen  paused  a  moment  to  say  :  "I  haven't  thanked 
you,  Captain  Butler,  because  it  seemed  no  use  to  try. 
Where  should  I  end]" 

"  Don't  begin,"  said  the  Captain,  with  the  smile 
which  he  kept  for  Helen ;  she  was  as  dear  to  him  as 
his  own  daughters,  and  just  strange  enough  to  be  a 
colour  of  romance  in  his  thoughts.  It  always  x 
astonished  him,  and  slightly  abashed  him  that  she 
should  be  a  young  lady;  she  had  so  long  been  a 
little  girl. 

She  looked  fondly  into  his  kind  eyes.  "  It  is  too 
much — too  much  !"  she  cried,  and  slipped  away  with 
a  fallen  head. 

The  words  made  the  Captain  think  of  the  money 
again,  and  the  smile  went  and  the  trouble  came 
back  to  his  face,  as  he  walked  away  to  find  his  wife. 

"  Well  T  said  Mrs.  Butler. 

"Catharine,"  said  the  Captain,  "I'm  afraid  she 
thinks  it 's  five  thousand  a  year." 

"  0  no,  she  doesn't !"  pleaded  his  wife. 

"  Yes,  she  does,  my  dear.  She  spoke  of  it  as  an 
enormous  sum,  and  I  hadn't  the  courage  to  make  the 
thing  clear.  I  began  to,  and  then  gave  it  up.  I 
don't  see  what's  to  be  done  about  it.  I'm  afraid 
it 's  going  to  be  a  dreadful  blow  when  she  finds  out 


118  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

what  it  really  is."  Captain  Butler  looked  ruefully 
at  his  wife. 

"I  think  you're  mistaken,"  said  Mrs.  Butler.  "  It 's 
her  ignorance  of  money  that  makes  her  think  of  five 
thousand,  and  not  the  income  from  it ;  but  as  you  Ve 
raised  the  doubt  she  must  be  told  that  it  is  not  five 
thousand  a  year,  and  she  must  be  told  just  how 
much  it  is."  The  Captain  groaned.  "  But  you 
needn't  tell  her,  John.  You  Ve  gone  through  quite 
enough.  /  will  tell  her/' 

Captain  Butler  looked  ashamed,  but  relieved. 
"Well,  my  dear,  I  must  let  you.  It's  shirking,  but 
I  can't  help  it.  You  can  manage  it  better  than  I 
can.  When  I  think  of  telling  that  poor  child  how 
very  little  better  than  a  beggar  she  is,  my  tongue 
turns  to  a  chip  in  my  mouth." 

"  Yes,  it 's  hard.   But  suppose  she  'd  had  nothing  1 " 

"  Then  something  better  than  this  might  have 
been  done  with  the  creditors.  Some  were  old 
friends.  But  you  can't  ask  people  to  help  a  girl 
who  has  five  thousand  dollars.  It  sounds  pre 
posterous." 

"I  doubt  whether  Helen  would  have  allowed  herself 
to  be  helped  in  that  way  if  she  had  known  it,  and  how 
could  it  have  been  kept  from  her?"  Mrs.  Butler 
rose  to  go  to  another  room. 

"  Catharine,"  asked  the  Captain,  "was  it  at  Singa 
pore  that  I  got  that  first  letter  of  yours,  after  it 
had  chased  me  round  so  long  ?" 

"No;  it  was  at  Cape  Town,"  said  Mrs.  Butler. 
"Why?" 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  119 

"  I  told  Helen  it  was  at  Singapore." 

"  How  in  the  world  came  you  to  be  talking  to 
Helen  of  our  old  love-letters,  my  dear  1 " 

"  Oh,  she  was  asking  if  letters  to  the  East  didn't 
often  get  lost.  I  don't  know  why  she  should  have 
happened  to  ask.  But  she  did." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Butler  simply,  "  she  is 
going  to  write  to  Robert  Fenton." 

A  light  dawned  upon  Captain  Butler ;  he  laughed 
in  a  shamefaced  way,  and  then  he  frowned  a  little. 
"  Why  didn't  she  ask  me  outright  which  was  the 
best  way  to  address  him  ?" 

"  How  could  she  1  She  couldn't  have  asked  her 
own  father.  You  wouldn't  have  wished  your  own 
daughter  to  do  it." 

"  Yes,  I  should,"  defiantly  answered  the  Captain. 

"  Well,  she  wouldn't,"  replied  Mrs.  Butler.  The 
Captain  was  silenced,  but  not  satisfied.  He  suffered 
Mrs.  Butler  to  go,  but  remained  still  with  that  duped 
smile,  and  did  not  half  like  it. 

That  night  Helen  came  rather  late  and  tapped  at 
Mrs.  Butler's  door.  "  It 's  I — Helen — Mrs.  Butler. 
Can  I  speak  with  you  T 

"  Yes,  come  in,  Helen." 

She  pushed  in  impetuously.  "  I  came  to  ask 
Captain  Butler's  pardon  for  the  mean  little  intriguing 
way  I  got  out  of  him  how  to  address  a  letter  to 
Robert  Fenton.  He  must  have  told  you  !" 

"  He  said  you  asked  him  if  his  letters  from  home 
weren't  lost  sometimes,"  said  Mrs.  Butler,  with  a 
little  smile.  "/  understood,  my  dear,"  she  added, 


120  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

leaning  forward  to  smooth  Helen's  hair,  where  she 
had  sunk  on  the  cricket  at  her  feet.  "  It  was  a 
perfectly  natural  thing." 

"  0  yes,  only  too  natural  with  me  !  But  I  hate 
and  detest  all  that  beating  round  the  bush,  in  me, 
even  when  I  'm  doing  it ;  and  what  I  came  for  now, 
Mrs.  Butler,  is  to  ask  you  how  I  had  better  write  to 
Robert."  Neither  found  anything  worthy  of  remark 
in  this  second  avowal  of  purpose,  which  might  be 
said  in  a  manner  to  supersede  the  first.  "If  it 
hadn't  been  for  my  wretched  shilly-shallying  ways,  I 
shouldn't  have  to  write  to  him  at  all.  But  now  I 
must.  There  is  something — something — that  I  must 
tell  him  for  his  own  sake,  and — for  his  peace  of 
mind.  For  if  a  person  hates  any  one,  especially  if 
it 's  through  a  mistake,  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  let 
any  foolish  pride  interfere;  do  you,  Mrs.  Butler1?" 

"  No,  Helen,"  said  Mrs.  Butler,  with  perfect  intel 
ligence. 

''That's  what  I  think  too,  and  it  would  be  per 
fectly  easy — more  than  easy — to  write  and  tell  him 
that,  and  take  the  consequences,  whatever  they  were. 
You  see  it  is  just  this :  we  had  a  quarrel  before  he 
went  away, — or  not  a  quarrel,  but  a  misunderstand 
ing  ;  that  is,  he  misunderstood — and  he  was  so  vexed 
with  me  that  he  wouldn't  come  to  say  good-bye.  I 
don't  care  for  that.  He  did  perfectly  right.  But 
what  I  can't  forgive  is  his  not  trying  to  see  papa, 
and  bid  him  good-bye.  I  can't  bear  to  have  him 
think  any  longer  that  I  was  trifling  with  him,  and 
yet  I  can't  write  to  him,  when  I  think  of  the  way  he 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.-  121 

treated  papa.  It  seems  very  bad-hearted  in  him. 
Of  course,  I  didn't  see  how  he  could  have  borne  to 
see  papa  under  the  circumstances,  and  feeling  the 
way  he  did  towards  me ;  and,  of  course,  if  papa  had 
lived  it  would  have  been  different,  and  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  me,  I  know  Robert  wouldn't  have  done  it, 
for  he's  one  of  the  best  and  kindest —  Helen 
stopped,  and  Mrs.  Butler  waited  a  moment  before 
she  answered. 

"  Did  you  ever  think,  Helen,  that  Robert  loved 
your  father  like — not  like  you,  not  like  a  daughter — 
but  like  a  son?" 

"  Why,  papa  had  always  been  a  father  to  him  !" 
cried  Helen.  "  Why  shouldn't  he  1 " 

"  And  were  you  never  remiss  with  your  father, 
because  you  trusted  that  somehow,  sometime,  the 
love  you  felt  for  him  would  more  than  make  it  up  to 
him?" 

"  Oh,  a  thousand  times  !"  cried  Helen,  bowing  her 
head  on  Mrs.  Butler's  knees. 

The  pale  hand  continued  to  stroke  her  hair. 
"  That 's  a  risk  we  all  take  with  those  we  love.  It 's 
an  earnest  of  something  hereafter,  perhaps.  But  for 
this  world  it  isn't  safe.  Go,  and  write  your  letter, 
my  dear,  and  give  Robert  all  our  love." 

Mrs.  Butler  leaned  forward,  and  kissed  the  beautiful 
head  good-night,  and  Helen,  after  a  silent  embrace, 
went  back  to  her  room  again.  It  was  easy  now  to 
write  the  letter  which  she  had  found  so  hard  before, 
and  a  deep  peace  was  in  her  heart  when  she  i"ead  it 
over,  and  found  no  shadow  of  resentment  or  unkind- 


122  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

ness  in  it.  She  was  glad  to  have  abased  herself  so 
utterly  before  him,  to  have  put  herself  so  completely 
in  his  power.  Now  he  might  do  as  he  pleased,  but 
he  never  could  have  it  to  say  that  he  had  misunder 
stood  her,  or  that  he  had  cause  to  think  her  proud 
or  cruel. 

"  Dear  Eobert,"  the  letter  ran,'  "it  is  five  weeks 
now  since  papa  died.  I  wrote  you  a  line  to  tell  you 
the  sad  news  as  soon  as  I  could  bring  myself  to  put  it 
in  words,  and  I  suppose  you  will  get  that  letter  before 
this  reaches  you.  But  for  fear  that  it  may  fail  (I 
sent  you  a  newspaper  with  the  account,  too),  I  will 
tell  you  again,  that  it  was  very  sudden,  and  while  I 
was  away  here  at  Beverley,  where  he  expected  to 
join  me  in  a  day  or  two.  It  was  at  his  office ; 
Captain  Butler  was  there  with  him.  I  thought  I 
could  tell  you  more  about  it;  but  I  cannot.  He 
died  of  a  disease  of  the  heart.  I  will  send  a  cutting 
from  another  newspaper  that  will  tell  you  more. 

"  The  day  before  papa  died  I  told  him  every 
thing  about  that  last  letter  I  wrote  you,  and  he 
took  your  part.  The  last  words  he  spoke  of  you 
were  full  of  affection  and  sympathy.  I  thought-  you 
would  like  to  know  this.  You  were  mistaken  about 
that  letter.  Read  it  again,  and  see  if  it  doesn't  mean 
something  different.  But  I  'm  afraid  you  tore  it  up 
in  your  disgust  with  me.  Well,  then,  I  must  tell 
you.  /  did  love  you  all  the  time.  There, — I  don't 
care  what  you  think  of  me.  You  can't  think  less  of 
me  tha*h  I  do. 

"  The  house  has  been  sold,  and  everything  in  it. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  123 

Papa  did  not  leave  a  will,  but  I  know  he  would  have 
liked  you  to  have  his  watch,  and  I  am  keeping  that 
for  you. 

"  I  am  with  the  Butlers  at  Beverley.  They  have 
been  everything  to  me,  and  are  everything. 

"  HELEN." 

In  Helen's  tall  hand  it  took  three  sheets  of  note- 
paper  to  hold  this  letter ;  the  paper  was  very  thin, 
but  she  put  on  a  double  postage  to  make  perfectly 
sure,  and  she  kept  the  letter  till  she  went  up  to 
Boston,  and  then  posted  it  herself  in  the  general 
post-office. 


VII. 

HELEN  had  been  three  weeks  at  the  Butlers',  and, 
in  spite  of  their  goodness,  which  guarded  her  free 
dom,  as  well  as  all  her  wishes,  she  began  to  feel  a  con 
straint  which  she  could  not  throw  off.  Life  had 
come  to  a  pause  with  her,  and  when  it  should  move 
forward  it  must  be  seriously,  and  even  sadly;  and 
she  was  morbidly  conscious  that  she  somehow 
clogged  the  joyous  march  of  Marian  Butler's  days. 
There  had  been  an  effort  to  keep  out  of  her  sight 
the  preparations  for  the  wedding,  till  she  had  pro 
tested  against  it,  and  demanded  to  see  every  dress. 
But  this  very  demand  emphasised  the  dark  difference 
between  her  fate  and  her  friend's,  and  Marian  was 
apologetically  happy  in  Helen's  presence,  however 
they  both  tried  to  have  it  otherwise.  Once  Marian 
had  explained  with  tears  that  she  would  like  to  put 
it  off  for  Helen's  sake,  if  she  could,  but  the  time  of 
the  marriage  had  been  fixed  with  regard  to  so  many 
other  matters  that  it  could  not  be  postponed.  Helen 
had  answered  that  Marian  made  her  very  wretched 
talking  of  such  a  thing,  and  that  she  must  go  at  once 
if  Marian  spoke  of  it  again.  They  had  embraced 
with  perfect  tenderness  and  sympathy,  and  Helen 

12-t 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  125 

had  remained  with  the  helpless  feeling  of  her  incon 
gruity  in  a  house  of  rejoicing.  It  seemed  to  her 
intolerable  that  she  must  bring  her  sorrow  thither ; 
she  suffered  till  she  could  get  away  with  it ;  all  they 
did  to  make  her  feel  at  ease  could  only  heighten  her 
trouble.  She  had  waited  with  a  painful  patience  till 
the  Captain  should  report  to  her  on  the  settlement 
of  her  father's  affairs,  and  she  could  begin  to  shape 
her  future ;  now  that  he  had  spoken  she  need  wait 
no  longer. 

She  found  Mrs.  Butler  in  the  parlour  the  morning 
after  she  had  written  to  Robert. 

"Mrs.  Butler,"  she  said,  "I  wrant  you  to  let  me 
go  away  next  week." 

"I  can't  bear  to  have  you  talk  of  leaving  us, 
Helen  !"  cried  Mrs.  Butler,  with  a  wistful  trouble  in 
her  eyes  and  voice,  yet  as  if  she  had  expected  this. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  returned  Helen,  "but  I  must  go. 
It 's  foolish  and  useless  to  keep  staying  on  ;  and  now 
that  I  've  made  up  my  feeble  mind  about  it,  don't  try 
to  stop  me." 

"  Helen,"  said  Mrs.  Butler,  "  don't  go  !  We  all 
want  you  to  stay.  We  want  you  to  go  to  Europe 
with  us — to  be  our  guest,  our  child.  Put  away  your 
scruples,  my  dear — I  understand  them,  and  honour 
them — and  go  with  us." 

"  You  know  I  can't,  Mrs.  Butler." 

"But  if  your  father  had  been  living,  you  would 
have  felt  free  to  accept  our  invitation." 

"  Perhaps.  But  it  would  have  been  different  then. 
Don't  press  me." 


126  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  I  'm  sorry,  Helen,"  sighed  Mrs.  Butler.  "  I  won't 
press  you.  But  stay  with  us,  my  dear.  It  does  us 
good  to  have  you.  Mr.  Butler  and  I  often  talk  of 
it ;  we  all  feel  it.  Say  that  you  '11  stay  till  we  go 
away,  and  then  we  '11  feel  as  if  we  had  parted 
because  we  must."  Helen  was  standing  before  Mrs. 
Butler,  who  had  the  girl's  hands  in  hers,  as  she  sat 
in  her  easy-chair,  and  looked  up  into  her  evasive 
face. 

"  No,"  said  Helen,  gently  taking  away  her  hands, 
and  sitting  down  near  the  other,  "  I  couldn't.  Don't 
let  us  deceive  ourselves.  I  'm  a  shadow  in  the  house ; 
we  all  know  it,  and  feel  it.  Nobody's  to  blame, 
nobody  can  help  it,"  she  added  quickly,  to  stay  a 
protest  from  Mrs.  Butler,  "  but  it 's  true.  You 
see  how  I  have  to  take  my  blackness  out  of  tho 
room  when  your  friends  come ;  I  give  them  a  pain 
ful  shock  when  they  catch  sight  of  me ;  it  checks 
the  pleasant  things  they  would  like  to  say ;  and  I 
hate  myself  for  glooming  about  the  house  in  secret ; 
I  feel  that  I  must  cast  a  shadow  on  them  even 
through  the  walls  and  floors." 

"  Helen,  dear,  there 's  no  friend  we  have  who  is  so 
precious  to  us  as  you  are  !" 

"  0  yes — yes  !  I  know  how  kind  you  are.  But 
you  see  it  can't  be.  I  should  have  to  go  away  at  the 
time  of  the  wedding,  and  you  had  better  let  me  go 
before." 

"  Go  away  at  the  time  of  Marian's  wedding  ?  Not 
be—  Why,  Helen  !" 

"Yes.     Think,    Mrs.    Butler!      It   couldn't   be." 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  127 

Mrs.  Butler  was  silent.  "  I  shouldn't  care  for  myself, 
and  I  know  you  wouldn't  care  for  yourselves ;  but 
the  others  have  some  rights  which  we  mustn't  over 
look.  I  should  throw  a  chill  over  everything.  I 
couldn't  endure  that,  and  you  can't  persuade  me, 
Mrs.  Butler;  you  mustn't  try." 

Mrs.  Butler  looked  really  disconsolate.  Helen 
was  right ;  there  was  no  possibility  of  gainsaying  her, 
much  less  of  outreasoning  her;  and  Mrs.  Butler  was 
one  of  those  feminine  temperaments,  rather  commoner 
in  New  England  than  elsewhere,  whom  a  good  reason 
absolutely  silences  :  they  may  not  often  have  it 
themselves,  but  their  reverence  for  truth  and  a  clear 
conclusion  is  such  that  they  must  bow  to  it  in  others. 
The  most  that  she  could  say  was,  "But  you  will 
come  back  to  us  afterwards,  Helen  1  You  will  come 
after  Marian  is  gone,  to  comfort  us,  won't  you?  It 
will  be  a  month  before  we  shall  sail,  and  we  should 
so  like  to  have  you  with  us.  We  shall  not  be  gay 
ourselves,  then,  and  you  will  feel  more  at  home.  I 
won't  oppose  you  now,  dear,  but  you  '11  promise  me 
that!" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Helen,  "  1 11  come  back,  then,  if 
you  want  me." 

"  And  where  are  you  going,  now  ?  Where  do  you 
mean  to  stay  ? " 

"I  don't  know.  I  thought  I  should  go  to  the 
Miss  Amys — you  remember  them,  don't  you  1 — and 
ask  them  to  let  me  stay  with  them  for  the  present. 
I  know  they  sometimes  take  people  to  board." 

"0  yes,  I  remember  them — on  West  Pomegranate 


128  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Street ;  one  of  those  pleasant  old  houses,  with  the 
threshold  level  with  the  side-walk.  It  will  be  a 
good  place,"  said  Mrs.  Butler,  cheered  with  the 
thought.  "You  must  let  Mr.  Butler  arrange  for 
you.  He—" 

"  No,"  said  Helen  promptly  ;  "  I  am  not  going  to 
trouble  Captain  Butler  any  more.  I  must  begin 
taking  care  of  myself  now,  and  I  can't  begin  too 
soon.  I  have  my  own  money,  and  I  ought  to  know 
how  to  use  it."  Human  nature  is  such  a  very  simple 
as  well  as  complex  thing,  that  Helen  could  feel  a 
childish  pride  in  being  absolute  mistress  of  a  certain 
sum,  and  for  the  moment  could  forget  the  loss  that 
had  endowed  her  with  it.  "I  am  going  to  be  very 
saving  of  it,  Mrs.  Butler."  She  smiled,  but  the 
smile  took  away,  all  hope  from  Mrs.  Butler.  She 
looked  at  Helen  in  despair,  and  did  not  know  how 
to  begin  what  she  felt  it  on  her  conscience  to  say  at 
once. 

"  Oh,  Helen  ! "  she  broke  out,  and  then  checked 
herself. 

"What,  Mrs.  Butler ?"  asked  the  girl,  startled  by 
her  accent. 

"  Oh,  nothing  !  I  mean — has  Mr.  Butler  told  you 
how  much  it  is  ]"  Mrs.  Butler  was  ashamed  of  her 
nighty  reluctance  and  indecision,  and  now  took  her 
self  firmly  in  hand. 

"Yes,  it's  five  thousand  dollars — so  much  more 
than  I  ever — " 

"Did  you  understand,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Butler, 
"  that  it 's  only  five  thousand  in  all  ]  Not — not  five 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  129 

thousand  a  year?"  Mrs.  Butler  was  prepared  for 
the  worst  dismay  that  Helen  could  show,  but  Helen 
showed  none.  On  the  contrary,  she  gave  a  little 
laugh. 

"  Five  thousand  a  year  ?  No  indeed  !  Why,  Mrs. 
Butler,  what  have  you  been  thinking  of?  That 
would  be  insanity." 

Mrs.  Butler  looked  like  one  to  whom  the  worst 
dismay  might  have  been  welcomer  than  this  cheer 
fulness  :  this  might  be  a  far  more  hopeless  condition 
than  the  realisation  of  the  fact  that  the  sum  of 
fhie  thousand  dollars  was  not  a  fortune ;  Helen 
might  be  thinking  it  was.  Mrs.  Butler  felt  obliged 
to  ask :  "Do  you  know  how  much  that  will  give 
you  to  live  on  1 " 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  Helen,  "  but  not  much,  I 
suppose. " 

Perhaps  she  thought  a  thousand  a  year.  Mrs. 
Butler  must  still  go  on.  "Some  of  Mr.  Butler's 
Chicago  mortgages  bring  him  nine  per  cent.  That 
would  be  five  times  ninety — four  hundred  and 
fifty  r 

"  Oh,  I  should  never  send  my  money  away  to 
Chicago.  I  want  it  where  I  can  put  my  hand  on  it 
at  once.  I  shall  deposit  it  in  savings-banks — like 
Margaret— at  six  per  cent.,  and  then  I  shall  get 
three  hundred  a  year  from  it." 

"  But,  poor  child !  you  can't  live  upon  that," 
Mrs.  Butler  besought  her. 

."  No,  I  must  do  something.  I  'm  determined  never 
to  encroach  upon  the  principal,  whatever  happens. 


130  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Don't  you  think  that 's  the  right  way  1  I  Ve  always 
heard  that  it 's  perfectly  ruinous  to  live  upon  your 
principal." 

Mrs.  Butler  could  not  combat  these  just  concep 
tions.  "  Have  you  thought  what  you  shall  do, 
Helen  1"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  I  've  been  thinking  about  it  nearly  all  night. 
I  couldn't  sleep,  and  I  thought  I  might  as  well  think. 
I  couldn't  decide.  But  one  thing  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  I  shall  not  do:  I  shall  not  paint  holly-wood 
boxes."  They  both  laughed,  the  elder  lady  jntyingly 
and  reluctantly.  "In  the  first  place,  I  paint 
horridly;  but  that  wouldn't  make  any  difference. 
What  I  couldn't  do  would  be  to  ask  the  outrageous 
prices  which  holly-wood  boxes  bring  from  sympathis 
ing  friends  when  painted  by  young  ladies  in  need. 
Besides,  I  think  the  market  must  be  overstocked. 
Only  consider,  Mrs.  Butler,  how  many  holly-wood 
boxes  must  have  been  painted  by  this  time,  and  what 
stores  of  them  people  must  have  laid  by,  that  they 
couldn't  give  away  if  Christmas  came  twice  a  year 
from  now  till  the  millennium.  And  all  so  much  alike, 
too  :  a  farm-house  very  deep  in  the  snow ;  the  moon 
monopolising  the  sky,  and  Santa  Glaus,  very  fuzzy 
all  over,  and  much  too  large  for  his  sleigh,  with  his 
reindeers  and  his  pipe  just  of  a  size  ;  and  fat  robins 
at  each  end  of  the  box.  No,  you  needn't  be  afraid 
of  holly-wood  boxes  fiom  me,  Mrs.  Butler." 

"  Oh,  Helen,  you  queer  child  ! "  laughed  Mrs.  Butler 
helplessly. 

"But  I  will  confess  that  when  I  thought  of  doing 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  131 

something  for  myself,  holly- wood  boxes  popped  into 
my  head  the  first  thing.  I  suppose  there 's  really  no 
getting  away  from  them.  And,  0  yes  !  I  thought  of 
something  else ;  I  thought  of  parlour-readings.  What 
should  you  think  of  parlour-readings,  Mrs.  Butler  1 " 

Mrs.  Butler  visibly  cowered  under  the  proposi 
tion,  and  Helen  gave  a  wild  laugh.  " '  How  they 
brought  the  Good  News  from  Ghent  to  Aix,' 
don't  you  know  1  and  Poe's  *  Bells ; '  and  '  Curfew 
shall  not  ring  to-night.'  How  would  that  do  1 
Don't  you  believe  that  if  it  could  be  generally  given 
out,  I  might  be  handsomely  bought  off  by  public 
subscription  1  But  I  really  needn't  do  anything  at 
once,  Mrs.  Butler,"  Helen  went  on  seriously.  "I've 
got  clothes  enough  to  last  me  indefinitely,  for  I  shall 
expect  to  make  over  and  make  over,  now;  and  I 
shall  take  a  very  cheap  little  room  at  the  Miss  Amys', 
and  think  it  all  over  very  carefully,  and  look  about 
before  I  attempt  anything.  I  'm  not  afraid :  I  can 
do  all  sorts  of  things.  Don't — don't — sympathise  x 
with  me!"  she  added,  suddenly  breaking.  "That 
kills  me  !  It  disheartens  me  more  than  anything." 

"She  understands  perfectly  well  how  much  she's 
got,"  Mrs.  Butler  reported  to  her  husband.  "  She 
had  worked  out  just  how  much  income  it  would  be, 
and  she  says  she  expects  to  do  something  to  help 
herself.  But  she  is  so  cheerful  about  it  that  I  don't 
believe  she  does.  There's  something  between  her 
and  Robert  Fenton." 

"  It  would  be  the  best  thing  that  could  happen," 
said  the  Captain,  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  I  hope  to 


132  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

the  Lord  it 's  so  !  But  he  's  off  for  three  years  ! "  he 
added,  with  dismay. 

"  She  doesn't  think  of  that.  Or  perhaps  she  hopes 
he  can  get  leave  to  come  home — or  something. 
Besides,  such  a  girl  as  Helen  could  wait  thirty  years," 
said  Mrs.  Butler,  viewing  the  affair  in  the  heroical 
abstract.  "  Her  hope  and  her  trust  will  support  her." 

"Mon.lly,  perhaps.  But  she  would  have  to  be 
supported  otherwise,"  said  the  Captain.  He  refused 
to  be  wholly  comforted  by  his  wife's  manner.  Still, 
its  probability,  in  the  absence  of  anything  more  sub 
stantial,  afforded  him  a  measure  of  consolation.  At 
any  rate  it  was,  to  his  thinking,  the  sole  hopeful  out 
look  for  Helen.  Since  the  hard  times  began  he  had 
seen  so  much  futile  endeavour  by  able  and  experi 
enced  men,  to  get  something  to  do  for  even  a  scanty 
living,  that  he  had  grown  sceptical  of  all  endeavour 
at  self-help.  Every  year  he  was  called  upon  to  assist 
at  the  disillusion  of  a  score  or  more  of  bright  young 
spirits  fresh  from  the  University,  with  their  academic 
honours  still  green  upon  their  brows,  and  eager  for 
victory  in  the  battle  of  life.  He  knew  the  boys'  fathers 
and  mothers,  and  of  what  excellent  stock  they  came, 
what  honest  fellows  they  were,  and  what  good  reason 
there  was  to  believe  them  capable  of  bearing  their 
part  with  distinction  in  any  place  demanding  quality 
and  talent,  and  training.  But  there  seemed  to  be  no 
such  place  for  them ;  the  world  in  which  their  sires  had 
prospered  did  not  want  them,  did  not  know  what  to 
do  with  them.  Through  the  strange  blight  which  had 
fallen  upon  a  land  where  there  should  be  work  for 


133 

every  one,  and  success  for  every  one  willing  to  work, 
there  seemed  to  be  nothing  but  idleness  and  defeat 
for  these  -young  men  in  the  city  of  their  ancestry 
and  birth.  They  were  fit  to  lead  in  any  common 
wealth,  but  the  commonillness  apparently  would  not 
have  them ;  they  were  somehow  anachronisms  in 
their  own  day  and  generation ;  they  were  too  far 
before  or  too  far  behind  their  time.  The  Captain 
saw  them  dispersed  in  a  various  exile.  Some  tried 
cattle-raising  in  Colorado ;  some  tried  sheep-farming 
in  Virginia,  and  some  sheep-ranching  in  California. 
There  were  others  who  tried  cotton-planting  in  the 
South  and  the  orange-culture  in  Florida ;  there  were 
others  yet,  bolder  and  more  imaginative,  who  tried 
the  milk-farming  in  Massachusetts.  The  Captain 
heard  of  their  undertakings,  and  then  he  saw  them 
with  their  hats  scrupulously  on,  at  the  club,  which  a 
few  of  their  comrades  had  in  a  superior  wisdom  never 
abandoned. 

They  had  got  back,  and.  they  were  not  to  blame. 
Perhaps  there  was  some  error  in  the  training  of  these 
young  gentlemen,  which  had  not  quite  fitted  them 
to  solve  the  simple  yet  exacting  problem  of  making 
a  living.  But  then,  people  who  had  worked  hard 
all  their  lives  were  not  now  solving  this  problem. 
Captain  Butler  thought  of  these  nice  fellows,  and 
how  willing  and  helpless  they  were,  and  then  he 
thought,  with  compassion  too  keen  for  any  expression 
but  grim  laughter,  of  such  a  girl  as  Helen,  and  what 
her  training  \vas  for  the  task  of  taking  care  of  herself. 
It  was  probably  the  same  as  Marian's,  and  he  knew 


134  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

what  that  was.  They  had  in  fact  gone  to  the 
same  schools,  and  grown  through  the  same  circum 
stances  into  the  same  society,  in  which  everything 
they  had  been  and  had  done  fitted  them  to  remain, 
and  which  was  very  charming  and  refined,  and  good 
in  a  good  sense,  and  so  very,  very  far  from  doing 
anything  for  anything  but  culture's,  or  pleasure's,  or 
kindness'  sake. 

At  five  or  six  years  of  age,  Helen  had  begun  to 
go  with  the  other  little  girls  of  her  station  in  life  to 
a  school,  in  which  the  established  language  was 
French,  and  in  which  she  acquired  a  graceful  and 
ladylike  use  of  that  tongue.  It  stood  her  in  good 
stead  when  she  went  abroad  one  summer  with  her 
father,  and  she  found  that  she  spoke  it  as  correctly 
as  most  English  girls  she  met,  and  a  great  deal  more 
readily.  But  she  had  too  much  sense  to  be  sure  of 
her  accent  or  her  syntax ;  at  Paris  she  found  that 
her  French  was  good,  but  with  a  difference,  and  she 
would  not  have  dreamt  of  such  a  thing  as  teaching  it. 
In  fact  she  had  not  thought  of  that  at  any  time,  and 
she  had  no  such  natural  gift  for  languages  as  would 
have  enabled  her  to  master  it  without  such  a  design. 

From  this  school  she  went  to  others,  where  she 
was  taught  what  people  must  learn,  with  thorough 
ness  and  with  an  intelligence  very  different  alike 
from  the  old-fashioned  methods  of  young  ladies' 
establishments,  and  from  the  hard,  mechanical 
processes  of  the  public  schools.  She  was  made  to 
feel  an  enlightened  interest  in  her  studies;  she 
liked  some  of  them  very  much,  and  she  respected 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  135 

those  she  did  not  like.  Still  she  had  not  shown  a 
passionate  preference  for  any  particular  branch  of  x 
learning;  she  had  a  ladylike  ease  and  kindness 
withal ;  if  -  she  really  hated  anything  it  was  mathe 
matics,  but  because  she  hated  this  she  had  been  the 
more  conscientiously  attentive  to  it.  She  had  a  good 
taste  in  music,  and  fair  skill.  After  she  left  school, 
she  had  a  musical  enthusiasm,  in  the  height  of 
which  she  devoted  herself  under  her  German  in 
structor  to  many  hours  of  practice  every  day,  and 
had  her  own  ideas  of  becoming  a  great  performer. 
But  these  gave  way  to  clearer  conceptions  of  her 
powers,  and  she  remained  an  impassioned  amateur 
of  musical  genius  in  others.  She  went  devotedly  to 
all  the  private  musicales ;  she  was  unfailing  at  the 
rehearsals  of  the  Symphony  Concerts,  and  of  the 
Handel  and  Haydn  Society.  She  made  her  father 
join  the  Apollo  Club  for  her,  and  she  made  him  go 
to  some  of  the  concerts  with  her.  In  those  days 
her  talk  was  of  'Bach  and  Beethoven ;  she  thought 
poorly  of  Italian  music,  though  she  was  very  fond  of 
the  Italian  operas. 

It  was  to  this  period  that  her  passion  for  the  -\ 
German  language  also  belonged.  She  had  studied 
German  at  school,  of  course,  but  it  was  not  till  after 
leaving  school  that  French  was  relegated  to  its  true 
place  as  something  charming  enough,  but  not  serious ; 
and  German  engrossed  her.  She  read  Goethe's  and 
Schiller's  plays  with  her  teacher,  and  Heine's  songs 
with  one  of  her  girl-friends.  She  laid  out  a  course 
of  reading  in  German,  which  was  to  include  Schopen- 


136  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

hauer's  philosophy,  already  familiar  to  her  through 
the  talk  of  a  premature  Harvard  man,  who  rarely 
talked  of  anything  else.  But  it  never  really  came  to 
this ;  German  literature  presently  took  the  form  of 
drama,  and  after  Helen's  participation  in  a  certain 
number  of  German  plays,  it  yielded  to  the  pleasing 
dance  of  the  same  name ;  though  not  till  it  had 
s  superseded  Italian  as  well  as  French  in  her  affections. 
Dante,  of  course,  one  must  always  respect,  but  after 
Dante,  there  was  so  little  in  Italian  as  compared 
with  German  !  The  soft  throat  from  which  the 
southern  vowels  came  so  mellow  roughed  itself  with 
gutturals.  But  this,  like  music,  was  only  for  a  time. 
In  the  end,  Helen  was  always  a  girl  of  sense.  She 
knew  that  she  was  not  a  German  scholar,  any  more 
than  a  great  performer,  and  she  would  have  shrunk 
with  astonished  modesty  from  the  notion  of  putting 
such  acquirements  as  she  had  in  either  to  practical 
use.  She  hid  them  away,  when  her  frenzy  for  them 
was  past,  as  really  so  little  that  one  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  them. 

It  was  the  same  with  painting — or  Art,  as  she  then 
called  it — in  which  it  has  already  been  represented 
that  she  at  one  time  took  a  great  interest.  She 
really  liked  it  very  much ;  she  had  that  feeling  for 
form  and  colour  without  which  no  dressmaker  can 
enable  a  young  lady  to  dress  exquisitely,  and  she 
enjoyed  form  and  colour  in  painting.  But  by  and 
by,  as  the  class  fanned  itself  down  to  the  grains 
of  wheat  in  its  large  measure  of  amiable  and  well- 
meaning  chaff,  Helen  found  that  her  place  was  with 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  .       137 

the  chaff.  It  did  not  need  the  eye  of  the  great 
painter,  glancing  with  a  humorous  gleam  from  her 
work  at  her,  to  teach  her  this ;  she  had  felt  it 
before,  and  she  gave  it  up  before  she  had  conspicu 
ously  disgraced  herself.  She  was  always  very  glad 
to  have  taken  to  it ;  the  attempt  to  paint  for  herself 
had  cleared  and  defined  her  taste  in  painting,  and 
indefinitely  enlarged  the  bounds  of  her  knowledge 
and  enjoyment.  But  it  had  not  done  anything  more,  f 
and  all  that  Helen  had  learnt  and  done  had  merely 
had  the  effect  that  was  meant :  to  leave  her  a 
cultivated  and  agreeable  girl,  with  bright  ideas  on 
all  sorts  of  pleasant  subjects.  She  was,  as  the  sum 
of  it,  merely  and  entirely  a  lady,  the  most  charming 
thing  in  the  world,  and  as  regards  anything  but, 
a  lady's  destiny  the  most  helpless. 

It  was  the  fact  that  Helen's  life  now  seemed 
wrenched  and  twisted  so  far  from  its  rightful 
destiny,  which  bowed  Captain  Butler  over  it  in  such 
despair,  and  which  well  might  strike  pity  into  the 
hardiest  beholder.  Her  old  friend  saw  no  hope  for 
her  but  in  the  chance  of  there  being  something,  as 
his  wife  suggested,  between  her  and  Robert  Fenton. 
Yet  it  was  against  this  hope  that  Helen  herself  had 
most  strenuously  steeled  her  heart.  She  had  not* 
the  least  doubt  of  Robert.  He  was  a  gentleman, 
and  he  would  take  what  she  had  written  in  the 
right  way.  She  rested  in  such  absolute  faith  in  his 
generosity,  that  she  shrank  from  the  possibility  of 
abusing  it  as  from  something  like  sacrilege.  If 
Robert  were  that  moment  to  come  and  ask  her  to 


138  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

marry  him,  she  would  not  take  him  till  she  had 
fairly  won  him  again ;  and  if,  when  he  had  got  her 
letter,  and  thought  it  all  over,  he  decided  that  she 
was  too  light  and  flippant  a  girl  to  trust  with  his 
happiness,  she  should  know  just  how  to  take  it. 
She  should  not  blame  him ;  she  should  not  think 
him  less  kind  and  true  ;  he  should  be  none  the  less 
her  hero.  In  fact,  it  seemed  as  if  his  willingness  to 
forget  her  folly  would  somehow  mar  the  perfection 
of  her  self-sacrifice.  So,  while  she  clung  the  most 
fondly  to  the  thought  of  him,  it  was  with  the 
austerest  readiness  to  give  him  up,  and  even  a  sort 
of  impatience.  Women  seldom  reason,  it  is  said ; 
when  they  do  so,  it  must  be  owned  that  it  is  with 
passionate  largeness.  The  sum  of  Helen's  emotional 
logic  was  that  she  must  plan  her  future  with  as 
much  severity  and  seriousness,  as  much  will  to  venture 
and  to  endure,  as  if  there  were  no  Robert  Fenton, 
or  ever  had  been,  in  the  world.  Her  sole  difficulty 
was  to  imagine  her  future,  and  to  begin  to  imagine 
it,  she  must  first  escape  from  the  affectionate  restraint 
of  these  kind  friends  of  hers.  She  had  no  purpose 
more  definite  than  that. 

When  she  went  from  Mrs.  Butler  to  her  own 
room,  the  chamber  did  not  seem  spacious  enough 
for  the  tumult  in  her  mind,  and  now  that  she  had 
resolved  to  go  up  to  Boston  that  afternoon,  and  was, 
as  it  were,  already  in  motion,  the  inertness  of  the 
place  was  intolerable.  She  put  on  a  wrap  and  a  hat, 
and  stole  out  to  her  accustomed  place  on  the  rocks. 
it  was  a  very  still  morning  late  in  September,  after 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  139 

the  first  autumn  gales  had  blown  themselves  away, 
and  a  glistening  calm,  with  a  deep  heart  of  mellow 
warmth,  had  followed.  The  sea  sparkled  and  shone 
with  a  thousand  radiances  in  its  nearer  levels,  and 
in  its  distance  was  a  blue  that  melted  into  a  hardly 
more  ethereal  heaven,  a  few  white  sails  that  might 
have  been  wings  showing  palely  at  its  confluence 
with  the  sky.  It  washed  languidly  up  the  little 
beach  of  the  cove,  and  with  a  slow,  shouldering 
action,  softly  heaved  against  the  foot  of  the  rocks 
where  the  sea-weed  flung  up  by  the  storm  hung 
drying  its  masses  in  the  sun,  and  trailing  its  ribbons 
in  the  tide.  The  air  seemed  to  sparkle  and  burn 
like  the  sea,  and  was  full  of  the  same  pungent, 
saline  odours. 

Helen  came  round  a  knot  of  twisted  cedars  that 
hid  her  haunt  from  the  house,  and,  climbing  to  the 
perch  where  she  was  used  to  sit,  found  herself  con 
fronted  by  a  gentleman  apparently  in  as  great 
trouble  as  herself  at  their  encounter.  She  could  not 
mistake  those  sloping  shoulders,  that  long  neck,  and 
that  ineffective  chin  :  it  was  Lord  Rainford,  not  now 
in  the  blue  yachting-stuff  in  which  she  had  last  seen 
him,  but  in  a  morning  costume  which  seemed  to 
make  even  less  of  him  in  point  of  personal  attrac 
tiveness.  Helen  held  the  only  pass  by  which  he 
could  have  escaped,  and,  much  as  she  would  have 
liked  to  let  him  go,  it  was  impossible  for  her  to 
yield  without  speaking. 

"Ah — good-morning.  I'm  intruding  here,  I'm 
afraid,  MioS — Harkness,"  he  began. 


140  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  0  no,"  she  said,  and  paused,  not  knowing  just 
what  else  to  say. 

"The  fact  is,"  the  Englishman  continued,  "  that  I 
had  been  calling  with  Mr.  Ray,  and  he  went  back  a 
moment,  and  I  stepped  down  here  on  the  rocks, 
and —  Helen  perceived  that  he  had  taken  in  the 
fact  of  her  crapes,  visiting  them  with  a  glance  of 
wistful  pity,  as  if  he  would  like  to  say  something  fit 
and  due  about  her  bereavement.  But  he  only  asked, 
after  his  abrupt  pause,  "  Have  you  been  always  well 
since  I  saw  you  T' 

She  remembered  Ray's  praises  of  Lord  Rainford, 
and  would  have  liked  to  put  herself  right  with  him. 
She  hated  to  have  him  thinking  her  flippant  and 
unfeeling,  though  she  might  have  proved  that  it 
was  his  fault  she  had  been  so.  But  she  could  think 
of  nothing  more  than  "Thank  you"  to  say;  and 
then  she  asked,  "Have  you  been  welH" 

"Oh,  very!"  answered  Lord  Rainford ;  "my 
American  summer  has  quite  set  me  up." 

This  seemed  to  imply  that  he  had  not  been  very 
well  when  he  came,  but  Helen  did  not  ask.  She 
was  thinking  that  when  he  should  have  a  heavier 
moustache  and  a  beard  to  that  feeble  chin,  his  face 
and  neck  might  be  helped  off  a  little,  but  nothing 
could  ever  do  anything  for  those  shoulders.  She 
settled  this  in  her  mind  before  she  said,  rather 
absently,  "  I  am  glad  of  that.  You  will  be  going 
home  soon,  I  suppose,"  she  added,  from  mere  dearth, 
though  it  occurred  to  her  that  this  might  be  set 
down  as  an  instance  of  the  Yankee  inquisitiveness 
that  Englishmen  are  always  in  quest  of. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  141 

"Yes;  I'm  going  to  sail  to-morrow,"  said  Lord 
Rainford.  "Your  friends  have  promised  to  come 
and  see  me  in  England." 

"  They  told  me,"  assented  Helen. 

"  I  'm  sure  they  owe  me  a  revenge  in  that  way," 
continued  the  young  man.  "Mr.  Ray  has  done 
me  no  end  of  kindness.  In  fact  everybody's  been 
most  uncommonly  kind.  I  couldn't  say  enough  of 
it!" 

"  I  'm  glad  you  have  enjoyed  your  stay  here,"  said 
Helen.  "We  Americans  are  rather  weak  about  our 
country.  We  like  people  to  like  it,  and  take  it  as  a 
personal  favour  when  they  do.  I  suppose  none  of 
us,"  she  added,  "  does  anything  to  set  even  the  least 
important  person  in  it  before  a  stranger  in  a  false 
light,  without  feeling  sorry."  She  examined  Lord 
Rainford's  face  for  an  instant  before  she  dropped  her 
eyes,  and  saw  it  kindle  with  a  delicate  intelligence. 

"I  wish,"  he  answered,  "that  I  could  be  sure  I 
leave  everybody  in  America  as  well  pleased  with  me 
as  I  am  with  all  America." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Helen;  "we  shall  be  making 
international  allusions  to  the  language  of  Shake 
speare  and  Milton  in  another  minute." 

"No,"  said  Lord  Rainford;  "it  seems  to  me  you 
don't  care  to  do  that  any  more.  Very  curious,"  he 
added ;  "  I  can't  get  the  people  I  meet  to  say  a  good 
word  for  their  country.  They  all  seem  ashamed  of 
it,  and  abuse  it,  no  end." 

"  That 's  because  they  want  you  to  praise  it," 
suggested  Helen. 


142  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  Ah,  but  they  won't  let  you  praise  it !  They  '11 
let  you  join  them  in  crying  it  down." 

"  But  you  had  better  not." 

"  Ah,  yes ;  very  likely.  I  can't  think  that  a 
country  where  I  Ve  met  so  many  nice  people,  and 
seen  scarcely  anything  but  order  and  comfort  even 
in  these  very  bad  times,  can  be  going  to  the  dogs ; 
but  I  can't  get  anybody  here  to  agree  with  me — that 
is,  in  society.  I  don't  understand  it." 

"  I  can't  explain/'  said  Helen,  with  a  little  smile, 
"  except  by  '  the  settled  opposition  to  our  institutions 
which  pervades  the  British  mind.'" 

"Ah,  Chuzzlewit ;  I  know.  But  you  '11  excuse  my 
saying  that  I  think  your  institutions  have  changed 
for  the  worse  in  this  respect  since  Mr.  Pogram's  time. 
I  think  Pogramism  is  better  than  this  other  thing." 

"What  other  thing  1"  asked  Helen,  not  a  great 
deal  interested. 

"  Why,  this  not  talking  of  America  at  all.  I  find 
your  people — your  best  people,  I  suppose  they  are — 
very  nice,  very  intelligent,  very  pleasant — only  talk 
about  Europe.  They  talk  about  London,  and  about 
Paris,  and  about  Rome ;  there  seems  to  be  quite  a 
passion  for  Italy ;  but  they  don't  seem  interested  in 
their  own  country.  I  can't  make  it  out.  It  isn't  as 
if  they  were  cosmopolitan ;  that  isn't  quite  the  im 
pression,  though — excuse  my  saying  so — they  try  to 
give  it.  They  always  seem  to  have  been  reading  the 
Fortnightly  and  the  Saturday  Review,  and  the  Spectator, 
and  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  and  the  last  French 
and  English  books.  It  }s  very  odd  !  Upon  my  word, 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  143 

at  one  dinner  the  Americans  got  to  talking  to  one 
another  about  some  question  of  local  finance  in 
pounds,  shillings,  and  pence.  I  don't  understand  it. " 

Lord  Eainford  seemed  to  find  nothing  ridiculous, 
but  only  something  mysterious  in  this,  and  reddened 
a  little  when  Helen  laughed. 

"Perhaps  you're  embittered  because  experience 
has  destroyed  your  ideal.  You  expected  us  all  to  call 
you  a  Britisher,  and  to  flaunt  Bunker  Hill  Monument 
in  your  face." 

"Ah,  now,  do  you  think  that's  quite  fair,  Miss 
Harknessr 

Helen  stooped  a  little  sidewise  and  felt  about  her 
skirts  with  her  left  hand  for  the  loop  of  her  train,  in 
that  peculiar  clawing  and  grappling  manner  which 
once  had  its  fascination  for  the  idle  spectator.  "  We 
American  women  are  accused  of  not  caring  any 
thing  about  our  institutions,"  she  said.  She  secured 
the  loop  now,  and,  erecting  herself,  gave  Lord  Eain 
ford  her  right  hand  for  good-bye. 

A  deeper  red  dyed  the  young  man's  face,  as  he 
took  her  hand  and  detained  it  a  moment.  "  Are 
you  going,"  he  asked,  and  hesitated  before  he  added, 
with  an  abrupt  change  of  tone  :  "I  can't  let  you  go, 
Miss  Harkness,  without  saying — without  saying — 
without  trying  to  say  how  very  sorry  I  have  felt  at 
— at — your  bereavement.  It  came  so  soon  after  I 
first  saw  you  that — that  I — thought  you — thought 
myself  not  altogether  wrong  to  tell  you.  But,  I 
suppose,  I  shouldn't  have  spoken.  I  beg  your 
pardon  !" 


144  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"You  are  very,  very  kind,  Lord  Kainford," 
answered  Helen  steadily,  "  and  I  thank  you  for 
speaking  of  it.  I  know  people  usually  avoid  speak 
ing  to  others  in — 'mourning — about  it  to  spare  them; 
but  it 's  better  to  recognise  it ;  I  like  it  better  than 
trying  to  ignore  it." 

"  I've  always  felt,"  pursued  Lord  Rainford,  "that 
I  was  painfully  associated  in  your  mind— I  mean — I 
don't  know — I  hope  you  won't  always  think  of  me 
as  a  particularly  disagreeable  part  of  that  day's  ex 
perience."  Lord  Rainford  still  spoke  with  an  awk 
ward  halt  and  hesitation,  but  the  genuine  feeling 
with  which  he  seemed  eager  to  leave  Helen  a  better 
impression  dignified  his  manner.  "If  you  won't 
think  it  egotistical,"  he  hastened  to  add,  "I'll  say 
that  I  believe  I  'm  rather  a  serious  man ;  at  least  I  'm 
a  heavy  one ;  and  when  I  attempt  anything  else,  I — 
I  know  I  'm  disgusting — more  disgusting  than  ordi 
narily.  I  was  shocked — I  can't  tell  you  how  much  I 
was  shocked — to  think  I  had  followed  you  up  almost 
to  the  moment  of  that — intelligence,  with  imbecilities 
that  must  have  been  a — in  distressing  contrast.  I 
don't  know  whether  I  make  myself  clear — whether 
I  ought  to  speak — " 

"O  yes!"  cried  Helen,  touched  at  his  assump 
tion  of  all  the  blame.  "  I  'm  so  glad  you  have  spoken 
of  that,  if  only  for  the  selfish  reason  that  it  gives  me 
a  chance  to  say  how  ashamed  I  am  of  my  own  part 
in  it.  I  never  thought  of  yours" — this  was  not 
quite  true,  but  we  cannot  be  very  generous  and  quite 
true  at  the  same  time — "  but  it  was  the  thought  o 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  145 

my  own  frivolity  that  sometimes  helped  to  make 
what  followed  so  hard  to  bear.     I  was  very  rude." 

"0  no,  no!"  answered  the  young  man.  "You 
said  nothing  but  what  I  richly  deserved.  If  you  'd 
only  said  more,  I  should  have  liked  it  much  better 
• — afterwards.  But  what  I  want  you  to  think  is, 
that  I  shouldn't  have  done  so  badly,  perhaps,  if  1 7d 
been  acting  quite  naturally,  or  in  my  own  character. 
That  is—" 

"  I  'in  afraid,"  said  Helen,  "  that  I  can't  ask  you  to 
think  that  I  was  acting  out  of  my  character — or  all 
of  my  characters  :  I  seem  to  have  so  many — ' 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  Lord  Rainford,  "  that 's  what  I 
meant." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  it  was  only  too  much  like 
one  of  mine — the  one  I  'm  most  ashamed  of.  You 
will  have  a  pleasant  time  to  cross,  Lord  Rainford," 
she  added,  and  took  away  her  hand. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know/'  said  the  other,  accepting 
the  close  of  this  passage  of  their  interview,  and 
answering  from  the  conscientiousness  in  talk  which 
serves  the  English  so  well  instead  of  conventional 
politeness,  and  is  not  so  pleasant,  "  there  are  apt  to 
be  gales  at  this  season,  you  know." 

"0  yes,  yes!"  returned  Helen,  a  little  vexed  at 
herself.  "Gales,  yes.  But  I  was  thinking  of  the 
equinoctial  storm  being  past.  They  say  it 's  past  now.'7 

"I'm  a  good  sailor,"  said  Lord  Rainford.  "I 
think  I  shall  take  a  run  over  again,  next  year." 

"  You  've  not  got  enough  of  America  in  three 
months ! " 

K 


146  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"No.  I  hope  it  hasn't  got  too  much  of  me." 
He  looked  at  Helen  as  if  he  expected  her  to  say 
something  civil  on  the  part  of  her  hemisphere.  But 
she  refused  to  be  the  national  voice,  except  very 
evasively. 

"  Oh,  we  ought  to  be  flattered  that  people  care  to 
come  back." 

"  You  know,"  said  Lord  Rainford,  "  that  I  've  seen 
almost  nothing  of  the  country  yet.  I  've  not  even 
been  in  Washington,  and  I  want  to  see  Chicago  and 
San  Francisco."  Helen  did  not  say  that  she  could 
not  understand  why,  and  Lord  Rainford  went 
on.  "I  'd  only  a  few  weeks  in  Canada,  you 
know,  before  I  came  down  to  Orchard  Beach — I 
think  they  call  it — with  some  Montreal  people,  and 
then  I  came  to  Boston,  and  I  Ve  been  about  Boston 
and  Newport  ever  since.  People  have  been  extra 
ordinarily  kind.  I  couldn't  really  get  away,  and  as 
I  'm  going  away  rather  prematurely  now,  I  must  come 
back." 

From  this  outline  of  his  experience,  Helen  knew 
quite  accurately  all  its  details.  She  could  have 
told  just  what  had  happened  to  him  at  Newport, 
going  thither  with  Boston  introductions,  what  lawn- 
parties,  lunches,  and  dinners  had  been  made  for 
him,  and  in  whose  carriage  he  had  first  driven  to  the 
polo  grounds.  He  had  been  perhaps  once  at  the 
Town  and  Country  Club ;  and  he  had  been  a  good 
deal  at  the  bathing-beaches,  although  early  assured 
that  nobody  bathed  there  any  more,  and  the  Man 
hattan  Yacht  Club  had  sailed  him  over  all  the  neigh- 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  147 

bouring  waters.  He  had  seen  the  decay  of  the 
custom  of  Fort  Day,  and  had  been  told  what 
numbers  of  people  used  to  go  to  the  music  in  Fort 
Adams  before  polo  began.  When  he  returned  to 
Boston,  it  was  too  soon  for  society  to  have  come 
back  in  full  force,  but  enough  of  it  had  got  back  to 
show  him  with  what  intensity  of  hospitality  the 
sojourning  Englishman,  distinguished  by  rank,  or 
otherwise,  or  simply  well  accredited,  is  used  among 
us.  Helen  knew,  without  asking,  the  houses  and 
their  succession,  in  which  Lord  Rainford  had  been 
entertained,  and  she  could  have  guessed  pretty  well 
at  what  semi-civic  feasts  he  had  assisted.  The 
Monday,  Tuesday,  Wednesday,  Thursday,  Friday, 
and  Saturday  Evening  Clubs  had  all  shared  in 
him,  and  he  had  listened  to  part  of  a  lecture  at  the 
Woman's  Club.  He  had  been  taught  much  more 
about  the  charitable,  penal,  and  educational  estab 
lishments  of  Boston,  than  any  one  Bostonian  could 
endure  to  know,  and  he  had  kept  his  original  im 
pression  that  Boston  reminded  you  of  an  English-^ 
town.  If  he  was  at  all  astonished,  as  a  young  man, 
at  the  attentions  heaped  upon  him,  he  must,  as  a 
Lord,  have  been  too  much  used  to  consideration  in 
his  own  country,  to  be  surprised  at  it  in  ours. 
Men  vastly  his  superiors  in  everything  but  birth 
liked  to  speak  casually  of  him  as  that  very  nice 
young  Englishman,  who  had  dined  with  them,  and 
to  let  the  fact  of  his  rank  rather  patronisingly  escape 
them  in  talk.  People  whose  secret  pride  and  dearest 
prejudices  he  had  unwittingly  trodden  into  pulp  in 


148  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

his  plump  expressions  of  crude  opinion,  professed 
rather  to  like  his  frankness.  They  said  that  there 
was  something  in  his  bearing — a  simplicity,  a  direct- 
/  ness,  an  unconsciousness — which  showed  the  advan 
tage  of  a  standard  of  manners.  The  fact  that  you 
might  often  think  him,  at  first  glance,  the  most 
plebeian-looking  person  in  company,  showed  his  ex 
traordinary  qualities  of  race ;  the  persistence,  through 
so  many  hundred  years,  of  the  ancestral  traits, 
which,  in  the  attrition  of  a  democratic  society 
like  our  own  must  have  been  obliterated  long 
ago,  was  held  to  be  a  peculiar  triumph  of  aristo 
cratic  civilisation.  One  accomplished  gentleman 
had  proved  himself  much  better  versed  in  the 
Eainford  pedigree  than  Lord  Eainford  himself. 
''Talked  to  me  about  my  great-grandmother,"  said 
the  nobleman  afterwards  to  Eay,  "  and  my  maiden 
step-aunts." 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Helen  once  more,  and  nodding, 
she  turned  away,  and  went  down  the  rocks. 

Lord  Eainford  bowed,  and  said  good-bye,  too, 
following  her  with  his  eyes,  but  not  otherwise  pur 
suing  her. 

"  You  're  back  soon,"  he-  said  to  Mr.  Eay,  when 
the  latter  presently  joined  him. 

At  Salem  that  afternoon  he  came  into  the  car 
where  Helen  sat.  The  place  beside  her  was  the 
only  vacant  one,  and  he  stood  leaning  against  the 
seat  while  he  explained  that  he  had  been  left  by  his 
train  at  that  station  in  the  morning.  He  looked  as 
if  he  would  like  to  be  asked  to  take  the  vacant  seat, 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  149 

Helen  thought ;  but  she  was  perturbed  and  preoccu 
pied,  she  could  not  endure  the  thought  of  talking  all 
the  way  to  Boston,  and  she  made  no  sign  of  invita 
tion.  She  was  sorry,  but  she  could  not  help  it.  He 
hesitated  an  instant,  and  bidding  her  good-bye  once 
more,  said  he  was  going  forward  into  the  smoking- 
car,  and  she  did  not  see  him  again. 

She  went  first  to  the  post-office,  where  she  had  never 
been  before,  and  which  was  so  vast,  and  looked  so  hur 
ried  and  careless  with  those  throngs  of  people  sweep 
ing  through  its  corridors,  that  she  began  to  question 
whether  it  could  be  safely  intrusted  with  a  letter 
for  Eobert.  Through  one  of  the  windows  opening 
in  the  long  facade  of  glass  above  the  stretch  of  brass 
drawers,  which  people  were  unlocking  and  locking 
up,  all  about,  she  saw  a  weary-looking  clerk  toss  a 
little  package  into  the  air  for  relaxation,  and  then 
throw  it  into  a  distant  corner,  and  she  thought  with 
a  shudder,  what  if  that  had  been  her  letter,  and  it 
had  slipped  under  something  and  been  lost !  Be 
sides,  now  that  she  had  come  to  the  post-office,  she 
did  not  know  in  which  of  the  many  letter-holes  to 
trust,  and  she  studied  the  neighbouring  inscriptions 
without  being  able  to  make  up  her  mind.  At  last 
she  asked  an  old  gentleman,  who  was  unlocking  his 
box,  and  he  showed  her ;  she  feigned  to  drop  her 
letter  according  to  his  instructions,  but  waited  till  he 
went  away,  and  then  asked  the  clerk  at  the  nearest 
window.  He  confirmed  the  statement  of  the  old 
gentleman,  and  Helen  had  almost  allowed  her  letter 
to  go  when  she  bethought  herself  to  say  to  the 


150  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

clerk  that  it  was  to  the  care  of  the  Navy  Depart 
ment.  He  smiled — sarcastically,  Helen  fancied — 
and  said  it  was  quite  the  same  thing.  Then  she 
dedicated  a  final  blush  to  the  act,  and  posted  her 
letter,  and  found 'herself  quite  at  a  distance  from  the 
post-office,  walking  giddily  along,  with  a  fluttering 
heart  full  of  delicious  shame.  She  was  horrified  to 
think  she  had  done  it,  and  so  glad  it  was  done. 


or  THF. 
UNIVERSITY 

OF 


VIII. 

THE  walk  from  the  post-office  to  West  Pome 
granate  Street  is  not  very  short,  but  Helen  was, at 
the  Miss  Amys'  door  before  she  knew.  The  elder 
Miss  Amy  came  herself  to  answer  the  bell.  She 
recognised  Helen  presently  through  her  veil,  and 
welcomed  her  with  a  decayed-gentlewoman-polite 
ness,  explaining  that  she  and  her  sister  kept  no 
servant  when  their  lodgers  were  out  of  town.  Helen 
had  begun  to  say,  after  the  preliminary  parley  about 
health  and  the  weather,  that  she  had  come  to  see  if 
she  could  take  board  with  them,  when  the  younger 
Miss  Amy  came  in.  She  shook  her  head  in  response 
to  the  elder  Miss  Amy's  reference  of  the  matter  to 
her,  and  said  she  was  sorry,  but  it  was  a  mistake  : 
they  only  let  their  rooms  furnished  now,  and  people 
must  find  table-board  at  some  of  the  neighbouring 
houses.  At  Helen's  look  of  disappointment,  she 
said  she  knew  it  was  very  disagreeable  going  out  to 
meals  ;  but  their  lodgers  were  nearly  always  gentle 
men,  and  they  did  not  mind  it. 

"  Is  the  lady  who  wishes  the  rooms  a  young 
person  ?"  asked  Miss  Amy. 

Helen  saw  that  they  thought  she  was  looking  up  a 


152  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

place  for  some  one  else,  and  that  they  were  far  from 
imagining  her  errand  to  be  on  her  own  behalf.  They 
saw  in  her  an  amiable  young  lady,  interesting  her 
self  for  some  one  who  was  out  of  town  perhaps,  and 
wished  to  come  in  for  the  winter.  It  cost  Helen  more 
to  set  them  right  than  she  could  have  believed  ;  the 
first  steps  downward  in  the  world  are  not  so  painful 
from  the  surprise  of  your  equals  as  from  that  of 
people  on  the  level  to  which  you  descend. 

"It's  for  myself  that  I  want  the  rooms,"  said 
Helen,  and  both  the  Miss  Arnys  said  "Oh  ! "  and 
then  were  silent,  till  Helen  asked  if  they  could 
recommend  her  to  some  good  place  where  she  could 
find  both  board  and  lodging  under  the  same  roof. 
The  Miss  Amys  thought  a  while.  All  the  neighbour 
ing  places  were  very  large  boarding-houses,  and  the 
company  very  promiscuous.  ' '  I  don't  think  you  would 
like  it,  Miss  Harkness,"  said  the  younger  Miss  Amy. 

"  I  'm  afraid  it  isn't  a  question'  of  what  I  shall  like, 
any  more,"  said  Helen  bravely.  "  It 's  necessary 
that  I  should  economise,  and  if  I  can  get  a  room 
there  cheaply,  I  must  not  be  fastidious." 

"Oh  !"  said  the  younger  Miss  Amy  a  little  more 
expressively  than  before. 

"  Still,"  continued  the  young  girl,  "  I  should  like  it 
better  if  I  could  find  some  place  where  there  were 
not  many  other  boarders." 

The  elder  Miss  Amy  looked  at  the  younger  with 
a  blankness  for  which  the  glare  of  her  spectacles 
was  mainly  responsible,  and  asked,  "  How  would 
Mrs.  Hewitt's  do  ? " 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  153 

"  Mrs.  Hewitt's  might  do,"  assented  the  younger 
sister.  "  Her  rooms  are  good,  and  the  Smileys  liked 
her  table.  But  Miss  Harkness  would  find  it  very 
different  from  what  she's  been  used  to."  She 
seemed  to  add  this  caution  with  a  certain  indefin 
able  insinuation,  that  the  change  might  be  a  useful 
lesson. 

"Oh,  no  doubt,"  said  Helen,  "but  I  shall  not 
mind,  if — " 

"  It 's  quite  a  proper  place  in  every  way,"  continued 
the  younger  Miss  Amy,  "  and  the  neighbourhood 
unexceptionable.  If  you  can  get  the  use  of  the 
parlour  to  see  your  friends  in,  it  would  be  desir 
able." 

"  You  won't  keep  all  your  acquaintance,"  she 
added,  "  but  some  will  remain  true.  We  retained 
all  that  we  wished." 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen  drily,  not  choosing  that  Miss 
Amy  should  assume  their  equality  in  that  fashion. 
The  Miss  Amys  had,  in  fact,  declined  to  their 
present  station  from  no  great  social  eminence, 
but  the  former  position  had  been  growing  in  dis 
tinction  ever  since  they  lost  it,  and  they  had  so 
long  been  spoken  of  as  "  such  gentlewomen,"  that 
they  had  come  to  look  back  upon  it  as  something 
quite  commanding  ;  and  there  was  a  note  of  warning 
for  Helen  in  the  younger  Miss  Amy's  remark,  as  if 
all  persons  must  not  expect  to  be  so  fortunate  as 
they.  "  I  should  like,"  said  the  young  girl  with 
some  stateliness,  "very  much  to  see  Mrs.  Hewitt. 
Will  you  give  me  her  address  1" 


154  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  I  will  write  it  on  one  of  our  cards,"  said  Miss 
Amy,  who  found  with  difficulty,  in  a  portable  writ 
ing-desk  on  the  table,  a  card  inscribed  with  The 
Misses  Amy  in  the  neat  pencilling  of  a  professional 
card-writer.  The  reception-room  of  these  ladies  was 
respectable  in  threadbare  brussels,  and  green  reps ; 
a  fire  of  English  cannel  coal,  in  the  grate,  seemed  to 
have  been  a  long  time  laid,  and  the  lumps  of  coal 
would  have  been  the  better  for  dusting.  The  house 
was  clean,  but  it  had  the  dusty  smell,  which  small 
city  houses  have  at  the  end  of  summer  before  their 
furnace  fires  are  lit,  and  Helen  had  found  the  Miss 
Amys  not  such  nice  Miss  Amys  as  she  had  thought 
them  in  former  days,  when  she  had  come  to  their 
house  to  call  upon  some  friends  there.  When  the 
card  was  inscribed  with  Mrs.  Hewitt's  address,  she 
rose  to  receive  it. 

She  felt  strangely  depressed,  and  the  tears  came 
into  her  eyes  as  she  pulled  down  her  veil  and 
hurried  away.  She  had  packed  a  bag  before 
leaving  Beverley,  with  the  purpose  of  not  going 
back  that  night,  for  she  had  not  thought  but  that 
she  should  go  at  once  to  the  Miss  Amys,  and  had 
resisted  all  entreaties  that  she  would  return  and  tell 
the  Butlers  about  it.  She  would  not  have  gone  to 
the  Miss  Amys  now  on  any  account,  and  yet  she  felt 
somehow  hurt  at  not  finding  their  house  open  to  her 
in  the  way  she  had  imagined.  She  had  a  cowardly 
satisfaction  in  thinking  that  she  could  easily  get  the 
six  o'clock  train  to  Beverley  after  she  had  seen  Mrs. 
Hewitt 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  155 

Like  the  elder  Miss  Amy,  that  lady  answered  her 
door  in  person  when  Helen  rang,  and  taking  the  card, 
with  the  explanation  that  Helen  gave  her,  led  the 
way  to  her  reception  room.  It  took  shape  from  the 
swell-front ;  and  the  rocking-chair,  into  which  Mrs. 
Hewitt  sank,  stood  between  the  two  windows,  by 
which  she  could  easily  command  the  life  without,  up 
street  and  down.  What  had  been  the  fireplace  was 
occupied  by  a  register;  over  the  mantel  hung  the 
faded  photograph  of  an  officer  in  uniform ;  in  the 
corner  was  a  whatnot,  with  shells  and  daguerreotypes 
in  cases,  and  baskets  of  sewing  on  its  successive 
shelves ;  against  the  wall,  opposite  the  windows, 
stood  a  sewing-machine ;  the  carpet  was  a  tapestry 
of  moss  pattern  in  green  colour  ;  the  window  shades 
had  a  band  of  gilt  around  their  edges,  relieved  in 
green,  and  the  reps  of  the  sofa  and  chairs  were  green. 
Simple  and  few  as  these  appointments  were,  they 
had  an  unreconciled  look,  as  if  they  had  not  been 
bought  to  match,  but  were  fortuitous  combinations 
on  which  some  one  else  had  lost  money. 

Mrs.  Hewitt  asked  her  to  sit  down,  but  Helen 
remained  standing,  and  said  that  she  was  a  little 
pressed  for  time,  and  must  ask  at  once  if  she  could 
have  a  room  with  board. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  Ve  got  anything  'twould  suit 
you,  but  we  can  look,"  said  Mrs.  Hewitt,  apparently 
disappointed  in  not  being  first  allowed  to  talk  it  all 
over.  "  Did  you  wTant  something  on  suit,  or  singly  T' 
she  asked. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Helen. 


156  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  Do  you  want  more  than  one  room  ?" 

"O  no  !     I  only  want  one." 

The  landlady  preceded  Helen  up  the  stripe  of 
linen  that  covered  half  the  narrow  carpeting  on  the 
cramped  staircase.  "  Parlour,"  she  announced  on 
arriving  at  the  first  landing,  as  she  threw  open  the 
door  of  a  large  room  furnished  in  much-worn  brown 
plush.  "  Goes  with  the  rooms  on  this  floor ;  I  always 
let  'em  on  suit.  Now,  if  you  wanted  anything  on 
suit—" 

"  I  only  want  one  room,  and  I  don't  care  for  a 
private  parlour,"  said  Helen. 

The  landlady  glanced  up  the  next  flight  of  stairs. 
"  That  whole  floor  is  let  to  one  family — lady  and 
gentleman  and  little  boy — and  then  there 's  only  a 
room  on  the  top  floor  besides,"  said  Mrs.  Hewitt. 

"  I  '11  look  at  it,  please,"  said  Helen,  and  followed 
the  landlady  up.  The  room  had  a  pretty  bed  and 
bureau ;  it  was  very  neat,  and  it  was  rather  spacious. 
"  Is  there  any  one  else  on  this  floor?"  asked  Helen, 
feeling  sure  that  the  cook  and  second-girl  must  be 
her  neighbours. 

The  landlady  pushed  open  the  door  across  the 
little  passage-way.  "  There's  an  art-student  in  this 
room,"  she  said. 

"  Art-student  ?  "  gasped  Helen. 

"Young  lady  from  Nashua,"  said  the  landlady. 

"Oh  !"  cried  Helen,  remembering  with  relief  that 
art-students  in  our  time  and  country  are  quite  as  apt 
to  be  of  one  sex  as  another,  and  thinking  with  a  smile 
that  she  had  been  surprised  not  to  smell  tobacco  as 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  157 

soon  as  Mrs.  Hewitt  had  said  "  art-student."  She  re 
flected  that  she  had  once  been  an  art-student  herself, 
and  wondered  what  the  sketches  of  the  young  lady 
from  Nashua  were  like.  "  What  would  be  the  price 
of  this  room  ? " 

The  landlady  leaned  against  the  side  of  the  bed. 
"  Seven  dollars,"  she  said  in  an  experimental  tone. 
"  I  used  to  get  my  ten  and  twelve  dollars  for  it,  right 
after  the  war." 

"  I  will  take  it,"  said  Helen,  who  found  it  much 
less  than  she  feared.  "And  I  should  like  to  come 
at  once." 

"  To-night  ? "  asked  the  landlady,  looking  at  Helen. 

"  Yes,  if  the  room  's  ready." 

"Oh,  the  room's  ready.  But — did  you  bring  a 
trunk?" 

"  I  forgot !    It's  at  the  station.    I  can  send  for  it." 

"  0  yes,  the  express  is  right  round  the  corner 
from  here.  You  just  give  'em  your  check.  But  you 
better  not  lose  any  time.  They  're  late  sometimes, 
any  way." 

"Very  well,"  said  Helen,  childishly  pleased  at 
having  transacted  the  business  so  successfully.  "  I 
will  take  the  room  from  to-day,  and  I  will  pay  you 
for  the  first  week  now." 

"  Just  as  you  please,"  said  Mrs.  Hewitt. 

Helen  drew  out  her  porte-monnaie,  and  said,  "The 
Miss  Amys  can  tell  you  about  me." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  answered  Mrs.  Hewitt, 
politely.  She  had  perhaps  been  perplexed  to  know 
how  she  should  hint  anything  -about  references  to 


158  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

this  young  lady  who  took  an  attic  room  with  such  a 
high  and  mighty  air.  "  Their  card  was  sufficient." 

When  Helen  came  back  from  her  errand  to  the 
express  office,  and  went  to  her  room,  she  laid  aside 
her  things  and  made  herself  at  home  in  it.  She  did 
not  know  in  the  least  what  her  life  was  to  be  there ; 
but  she  felt  that  this,  whatever  it  was  not,  was 
escape  and  independence,  and  beginning.  A  rapid 
calculation  had  shown  her  that  her  payment  of 
seven  dollars  a  week  would  not  encroach  much  upon 
her  capital,  and  somehow  she  would  earn  enough 
money  to  meet  her  other  expenses.  She  could  not 
sit  still ;  she  rose  and  opened  her  closet  and  found  it 
deep  and  convenient ;  she  pulled  out  the  bureau 
drawers,  and  they  were  very  sweet  and  clean.  She 
discovered  a  little  cupboard  with  shelves  where  she 
thought  she  would  put  her  books.  The  room  was 
very  complete  ;  there  was  even  a  hook  in  the  ceiling 
by  the  window  where  some  one  must  have  hung  a 
bird-cage.  Helen  was  happy,  without  accusing  her 
self,  for  the  first  time  since  her  father  died.  She 
smiled  to  herself  at  her  landlady's  queerness,  and  was 
glad,  as  young  people  are,  to  be  housed  along  with  a 
character.  She  wondered  how  the  art-student  looked, 
and  who  the  family  could  be.  At  the  sound  of  the 
tea-bell  she  felt  the  emotion  of  a  healthful  hunger. 

There  was  a  dish  of  cream  toast,  very  hot  and 
fragrant ;  hotter,  and  more  fragrant  still,  there  was  a 
dish  of  oysters,  delicately  stewed  and  flavoured ;  in 
a  plated  basket  in  the  centre  of  the  table  was  a 
generous  stack  of  freshly  sliced  lady-cake.  "  From 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  159 

Copeland's,"  Mrs.  Hewitt  explained,  when  she  passed 
it.  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evans  are  out  to  tea,  and  I 
thought  we  wouldn't  wait  for  Miss  Root.  She 's  late 
sometimes.  Did  you  like  your  oysters  1 " 

"Delicious !"  said  Helen. 

"  Yes,  I  think  there  's  nothing  like  a  drop — not 
more  than  a  drop — of  sherry  in  your  stew,  just  when 
it  comes  to  the  stew.  I  don't  believe  in  any  thick- 
enin'  myself;  but  if  you  must  have  it,  let  it  be 
cracker  crumbs  :  flour  makes  it  so  kind  of  slippy." 
Mrs.  Hewitt  went  on  to  enlarge  upon  many  different 
kinds  of  dishes,  and  then  from  whatever  obscure 
association  of  ideas,  she  said:  "When  you  first1* 
came  in  to-day,  before  I  fairly  looked  at  the  Miss 
Amys'  card,  I  thought  you  'd  been  buryin'  a  husband. 
I  don't  see  how  I  could  took  you  if  you  had.  Widows 
are  more  trouble  in  a  house  !  Boston  family  ? " 

"  What  ?"  cried  Helen. 

"Your  folks  Boston  people  V 

"  0  yes,"  replied  the  girl,  and  she  submitted 
with  what  grace  she  could  to  the  inquisition  into  her 
past  that  followed.  "  I  Ve  never  lived  anywhere 
else;"  and  nothing  seemed  stranger  than  this  when 
she  came  to  think  it  over  in  her  room.  Here  in  the 
heart  of  Boston,  she  was  as  remote  from  the  Boston 
she  had  always  known  as  if  it  were  a  thousand  miles 
away ;  from  herself  of  the  time  when  she  lived  in 
that  far-off  Boston  she  seemed  divided  by  centuries. 
Into  what  a  strange  and  undreamt-of  world  she  had 
fallen  !  She  did  not  dislike  it.  On  the  contrary, 
she  thought  she  should  be  rather  content  in  it. 


160  A  WOMAN'S   REASON. 

Without  definite  aims  as  yet  for  the  future,  she 
fancied  that  she  should  try  to  be  wholly  of  her  pre 
sent  world,  and  ignore  that  in  which  she  used  to  live. 
Already  she  felt  alien  to  it  so  far  as  to  wish  that  the 
Butlers  would  not  send  people  to  call  on  her,  nor 
come  much  themselves.  She  knew  that  she  could 
adapt  herself  to  her  circumstances,  but  she  dreaded 
the  pain  of  their  inability  to  realise  her  in  them,  and 
felt  that  their  unhappiness  about  her  would  be  more 
than  she  could  bear.  She  planned  a  geographical 
limit  within  which  she  could  live  a  long  time  and 
not  meet  any  one  whom  she  had  known,  and  she 
resolved  next  day  to  begin  her  exploration  of  her 
solitude.  The  dark  gathered  into  the  room,  and  the 
window  showed  a  black  frame  against  the  sky  before 
she  thought  of  lighting  her  gas.  She  was  shaking 
her  match  out,  as  women  do,  when  a  light  tap  at  her 
door  standing  ajar  startled  her,  and  then  the  door 
was  pushed  open,  and  the  figure  of  a  tall  girl  stood 
on  the  threshold.  "  Miss  Root :  Miss  Harkness,  I 
believe,"  said  the  figure.  "  Will  you  lend,  me  a  match, 
please  1  I  waited  for  you  to  light  your  gas  so  as 
to  be  sure  you  had  matches  before  I  bothered  you. 
It 's  such  a  long  journey  down-stairs." 

Helen  smiled  in  her  most  radiant  way,  and  got 
the  matches,  saying  as  she  held  them  forward, 
"  Won't  you  come  in,  please  1 " 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  said  Miss  Eoot,  taking  one 
match  only.  "I  begin  badly.  But  you  won't  find 
me  a  great  borrower.  Have  you  got  everything  you 
want  in  your  room  i" 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  161 

"  Yes,  everything,  I  believe,"  said  Helen,  sweep 
ing  it  with  a  comprehensive  glance. 

"  You  '11  find  Mrs.  Hewitt  pretty  prompt.  You 
won't  have  anything  to  complain  of,  unless  you  mind 
being  talked  to  death.  Good-night,"  and  drawing 
the  door  to  after  her,  Miss  Root  returned  to  her  own 
room. 

Before  she  slept,  Helen  heard  the  street  door  open 
and  shut,  and  then  voices  ascending  to  the  third 
floor :  a  lady's  voice,  and  a  gentleman's  voice,  and  a 
sleepy  little  boy's  voice. 

"  Well,  this  is  the  last  time  we  shall  take  Tom  to 
the  theatre,"  said  the  lady's  voice — the  voice  of 
spent  nerves. 

"Yes,"  said  the  gentleman's  voice.  "We  shall 
confine  ourselves  to  the  circus  after  this,  Tom." 

"Circuses  are  the  best,  any  way,"  said  the  child's 
voice. 

"  Hush  !     Don't  speak  so  !"  cried  the  lady. 

"  Why,  they  are,  mamma,"  insisted  the  boy. 

"This  is  a  question  of  morals,  not  of  opinions, 
Tom,"  said  the  father.  "  You  're  not  to  prefer 
circuses  when  they're  inflicted  as  a  punishment." 

They  had  now  reached  their  door,  as  it  appeared, 
for  a  light  flashed  into  the  hall  below  as  from  gas 
turned  up. 

The  lady's  voice  was  heard  again  :  "  His  forehead 's 
burning  hot !  If  that  child  should  have  a  fever — 
Here,  feel  his  forehead  ! " 

"Forehead's  all  right!"  responded  the  heavier 
voice. 


162  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"/  shall  give  him  three  of  aconite!"  cried  the 
lady. 

"Give  him  three  thousand,  but  put  him  to  bed," 
assented  the  gentleman. 

"Will  you  shut  the  door?"  implored  the  lady. 
"Waking  the  whole  house  !" 

"  I  haven't  refused,  my  dear,"  said  the  gentleman. 
"  Why  do  you  always— 

The  door  closed,  expressively,  and  not,  as  Helen 
fancied,  by  the  gentleman's  hand.  "  The  Evanses," 
she  inferred.  She  fell  asleep  wondering  if  she  could 
indeed  be  the  same  girl  who  had  talked  that  morning 
to  Lord  Kainford  on  the  rocks  at  Beverley. 


IX. 

HELEN  saw  the  Evanses  in  going  to  breakfast. 
They  came  down-stairs  just  after  her,  Mr.  Evans 
leading  his  boy  by  his  extended  forefinger,  and  Mrs. 
Evans  coming  behind,  and  twitching  something 
about  the  child's  dress  into  place,  as  mothers  do. 

"Mrs.  Hewitt/'  said  Mr.  Evans,  as  they  sat  down 
at  table,  "  I  have  been  some  time  in  your  house,  but 
you  must  have  older  friends  than  I,  and  I  don't 
understand  why  the  law  has  honoured  me  as  it 
has." 

"  I  'm  sure  /  don't  know  what  you  're  talkin' 
about,"  said  Mrs.  Hewitt,  pouring  the  coffee. 

"  Well,  I  don't,  myself, "returned  Mr.  Evans,  "and 
I  thought  I  would  get  you  to  explain.  You  don't 
find  yourself  unusually  infirm  of  mind,  do  you  1 " 

"  No,  I  don't,"  replied  Mrs.  Hewitt  candidly. 

"  And  you  haven't  experienced  anything  like  a 
return  of  extreme  youth  ? " 

"What  is  the  man  after  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Hewitt. 

"Then  why  should  you  be  taken  care  of  in  any 
special  manner,  and  why  should  I,  of  all  people,  be 
called  upon  to  take  care  of  you  ?  Here 's  a  paper," 
Mr.  Evans  continued,  taking  a  document  from  his 

163 


164 

pocket,  "that  I  found  slipped  under  my  door  this 
morning.  It  makes  a  personal  appeal  to  me,  in  the 
name  of  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts,  to 
to  become  your  trustee.  Of  course,  it 's  very  flatter 
ing  and  all  that,  but  I  'd  much  rather  not.  You 
must  allow  me  to  resign,  Mrs.  Hewitt.  I  never 
did  understand  business  very  well,  and — 

"  How  'd  they  ever  get  into  this  house  without  my 
knowing  it]  That's  what  /  should  like  to  find 
out !"  said  Mrs.  Hewitt,  gazing  absently  at  the  paper 
which  Mr.  Evans  had  given  her. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?"  he  asked. 

"Pshaw!"  cried  his  landlady.  "You  don't  say 
you  never  was  trusteed  before  1  And  boarded  round 
as  much  as  you  have  !" 

"  Trusteed  !  Is  it  so  common  a  thing  as  to  have 
a  participial  form  ?  Then  I  needn't  have  any  scruples 
about  resigning  1 " 

Mrs.  Hewitt  broke  into  a  laugh.  "  Eesigning  ! 
Bless  you,  you  can't  resign.  There  's  no  such  thing." 

"  Gracious  powers  !  Not  resign  an  office  for  which 
I  don't  feel  myself  competent — " 

"  Oh,  come,  now  !  you  know  very  well  what  it  is. 
It 's  them  curtains,"  said  Mrs.  Hewitt,  pointing  to  the 
green-and-gold-trimmed  shades. 

Mr.  Evans  rose  and  curiously  examined  the 
shades ;  his  boy  also  slipped  down  out  of  his  chair, 
and  joined  in  the  inspection. 

"  Thomas,  who  gave  you  leave  to  quit  the  table  1 
Come  back  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Evans. 

"  My  dear  !"  expostulated  her  husband,  "  the  child 


A   WOMAN'S   REASON.  165 

very  naturally  wishes  to  see  what  sort  of  window- 
shade  it  is  that  thrusts  an  irresigriable  office  of 
honour  and  profit  upon  his  father.  Look  carefully, 
Tom.  Kegard  the  peculiarity  of  the  texture;  the 
uncommon  tone  of  the  colours." 

"Oh,  pshaw,  Mr.  Evans  !  You  stop  !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Hewitt.  "When  they  sent  in  their  bill,  I 
told  'em  'twas  too  much,  and  I  shouldn't  pay  it. 
I  didn't  believe  they  'd  really  go  so  far  as  to  trustee 
me." 

"But  what  does  it  mean,  Mrs.  Hewitt1?"  asked 
Mrs.  Evans.  "  I  don't  believe  Mr.  Evans  knows  any 
more  than  the  rest  of  us." 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Evans,  it  means  just  this  :  that  your 
husband  isn't  to  pay  me  any  board  till  this  bill  is 
settled,  and  if  he  does,  he  's  liable  for  it  himself. 
I  presume  they  '11  be  trusteein'  all  of  you.  I  shall 
have  to  pay  it  now." 

"  Is  that  the  law  1"  demanded  Mrs.  Evans.  "  It 
makes  one  long  for  a  delinquent  debtor  of  one's  own. 
So  simple,  yet  so  effective." 

"Well,  you  have  it  to  say,"  said  Mrs.  Hewitt, 
surprisingly  little  ruffled  by  the  incident,  "  that  you 
never  was  trusteed  in  my  Louse  before." 

"I  certainly  have  that  to  say,"  admitted  Mr. 
Evans.  "  I  'm  sorry  on  your  account  that  I  can't  resign 
my  trusteeship,  and  I  ?m  sorry  on  my  own  that  it 's 
such  a  very  sordid  affair.  I  never  happened  to  be 
appointed  to  office  before,  and  I  was  feeling  rather 
proud  of  the  confidence  reposed  in  me." 

They  all  rose  from  the  table  together,  and  Helen 


166  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

went  up- stairs  with  the  Evanses.  She  and  Mrs.  Evans 
exchanged  a  few  words  on  the  way,  and  stopped  on 
the  first  landing  to  glance  into  the  large  parlour.  Mr. 
Evans  came  after,  bestriding  his  boy,  who  now  had 
hold  of  both  his  forefingers — like  a  walking  Colossus 
of  Khodes.  He  flung  open  the  parlour  door,  which 
stood  ajar,  in  Mrs.  Hewitt's  manner.  "  Goes  with 
the  rooms  on  this  floor ;  I  always  let  'em  on  suit  ; 
now,  if  you  wanted  anything  on  suit —  He  looked 
Helen  for  sympathy,  and  she  laughed. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  said. 

"  Mrs.  Hewitt  won't  like  your  joking  her  so  much," 
said  his  wife. 

"  She  won't  know  it,  if  I  do  it  behind  her  back. 
And  she  seems  to  enjoy  it  to  her  face." 

"  Do  you  think  she  liked  your  coming  out  about 
that  trusteeing?" 

"  She  didn't  mind  it.  But  I  have  it  on  my  con 
science  to  tell  Miss  Harkness  that  Mrs.  Hewitt  is, 
for  all  I  know,  a  very  just  person — and  that  I  'm 
surprised  she  let  those  shade-people  get  the  advan 
tage  of  her.  She  has  a  passion,  like  all  landladies, 
for  single  gentlemen.  She  idealises  them,  I  am 
afraid.  There  haven't  been  any  single  gentlemen 
in  the  house  since  we  came  here,  two  years  ago. 
We  sometimes  fancy  that  her  preference  is  founded 
upon  her  experience  of  Mr.  Hewitt  as  a  married 
gentleman,  which  was  probably  unpleasant." 

"  Is — is  she  a  widow  1"  Helen  ventured  to  Mrs. 
Evans. 

"  Why,  not  exactly,"  said  Mrs.  Evans, 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  167 

"It's  a  very  neat  way  of  putting  it,"  said  Mr. 
Evans.  "She's  a  widow,  Miss  Harkness,  of  the 
herbaceous  variety." 

"My  dear,  she'll  hear  you,"  cried  Mrs.  Evans. 

"  Very  well,  then,  she  won't  understand  me.  I  '11 
venture  to  say  Miss  Harkness  doesn't." 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Helen,  and  looked  at  Mrs. 
Evans  for  light. 

"  Her  husband  is  living,  I  believe,"  explained  Mrs. 
Evans,  "  but — absent." 

Mr.  Evans  laughed  again.     "Not  lost,  but  gone 
before.     Come,  Tom  !     We  must  go  to  work  ! "     He 
led  the  way  up  to  the  next  floor,  and  at  her  door  ' 
Mrs.  Evans  asked  Helen  if  she  would  not  come  in. 

Helen  had  a  curiosity,  which  she  thought  harmless, 
to  see  their  apartment,  and  she  accepted  the  invita 
tion  in  the  drifting,  indecisive  manner  which  ladies 
have  when  they  do  not  mean  to  commit  themselves 
to  the  consequences  of  a  self-indulgence.  She  did 
not  feel  quite  sure  of  these  people ;  she  had  a  strong 
impression  that  she  was  their  social  superior,  but  N 
thrown  with  them  as  she  was,  she  had  too  much 
good  sense  to  hold  stiffly  aloof  from  them.  She  sat 
down  without,  as  it  were,  acknowledging  that  she 
sat  down;  and  she  followed  Mrs.  Evans  about 
from  room  to  room  without  seeming  to  do  so, 
as  well  as  she  could  manage  that  difficult  effect.  It 
was  a  very  pretty  little  apartment  of  four  tiny  rooms, 
of  which  the  last  was  Mr.  Evans's  study :  this  was 
just  large  enough  to  admit  his  desk  and  chairs,  and 
was  packed  with  books  on  shelves  to  the  ceiling,  and 


168  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Helen  inferred  that  he  was  some  sort  of  literary  man. 
She  would  not  sit  down  again,  but  paid  a  frosty  little 
net-work  of  compliments  to  the  souvenirs  of  travel  that 
she  saw  upon  the  tables  and  walls  ;  she  praised  the 
balcony  on  which  one  of  the  windows  opened,  and 
she  smiled  upon  the  flowers  with  which  Mrs.  Evans 
had  filled  it.  .  In  fine  she  guarded  her  distance  with 
the  skill  that  had  kept  the  acquaintance  at  a  stand 
still,  and  yet  left  it  resumable  on  more  cordial  terms 
at  will.  One  is  of  one's  world  after  all ;  and  even 
in  resigning  her  -world,  as  she  thought  she  had  done, 
Helen  had  not  yet  made  up  her  mind  to  be  of  a 
lower  one. 

She  had  promised  to  go  down  to  Beverley  on  the 
morrow,  and  tell  her  friends  what  she  had  done,  as 
the  condition  of  their  letting  her  come  up  to  Boston 
at  all  on  that  wild  enterprise  of  hers ;  and  though 
she  would  have  been  glad  not  to  go,  she  kept  her 
word.  But  it  was  really  not  so  hard  meeting  them 
as  she  had  feared.  Mrs.  Butler  was  forbearing,  and 
Marian  was  preoccupied;  the  younger  girls  saw  it 
somewhat  as  Helen  did,  and  thought  it  an  enviable 
adventure.  She  told  them  all  that  had  happened  in 
detail,  and  made  them  laugh.  She  partly  drama 
tised  her  interview  with  the  Miss  Amys,  and  they 
said  it  was  perfectly  delightful  to  think  of  Helen 
being  patronised  by  such  people.  They  wanted  to 
see  Mrs.  Hewitt,  and  the  fellow-boarders;  they 
wished  that  somebody  would  trustee  their  mother  ; 
they  said  that  the  life  Helen  was  leading  was  fas 
cinating. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  169 

"  Perhaps  you  wouldn't  find  it  so  fascinating  if 
you  were  obliged  to  lead  it,"  said  Mrs.  Butler. 

"  Helen  leads  it,  and  she  finds  it  fascinating." 

"  Helen  leads  it  out  of  the  hardness  of  her  heart,  x 
because  her  friends  don't  wish  her  to,"  returned  Mrs. 
Butler  fondly. 

"Mrs.  Butler!  Remember  your  promise!"  said 
Helen. 

"  I  hope  you  '11  remember  yours,  my  dear, — to 
come  back  to  us." 

"  Oh  !  And  what  are  you  going  to  do,  Helen  1 
What  are  you  going  to  do  for  a  living  1 "  demanded 
Jessie  Butler. 

"Jessie  !"  cried  her  mother.  "  Don't  be  absurd  ! 
Do  for  a  living  !" 

"  I  hope  you  won't  think  it  absurd,  Mrs.  Butler," 
said  Helen,  with  serious  dignity,  "  for  I  really  want 
to  do  something  for  a  living." 

"  Poor  child  ! "  said  Mrs.  Butler,  getting  Helen's 
hand  between  hers,  and  tenderly  smoothing  it. 
"What  could  you  do?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  yet.     But  I  know  I  could  do, 
something."      She  felt  dispirited  by  Mrs.   Bu tier's  A 
motherly  kindness,   and  would  have  liked  to  take 
her  hand  away.     This  was-  what  she  had  dreaded, 
this  feeling  on  the  part  of  such  friends  as  the  Butlers 
that  anything  useful  and  practical  was  impossible  to 
her.     For  the  moment  this  feeling  seemed  all  that 
stood  between  her  and  a  prosperous  career  of  self- 
help  ;  it  unnerved  her  so  terribly 

"  Do  tell  us  what  you  've  been  thinking  of  trying," 


170  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

persisted  Jessie.  She  was  the  youngest,  and  she 
ventured  on  almost  as  great  freedoms  with  her 
mother  and  Helen  as  Marian  herself  did. 

"  Oh,  I  thought  over  a  great  many  things  as  I 
came  down  this  morning,"  answered  Helen.  "  But  I 
haven't  settled  upon  anything  yet.  Indeed,  indeed, 
Mrs.  Butler!"  she  exclaimed,  "I'm  very  much  in 
earnest  about  it,  and  don't  try  to  discourage  me, 
please ! " 

"I  won't,  dear!"  Mrs.  Butler  assented  soothingly, 
as  if  Helen  were  a  sick  child,  and  must  be  humoured 
in  her  little  fancies. 

"  How  would  plain  sewing  do  ?"  suggested  Jessie. 
"  Or,  Wanted  by  a  young  lady,  to  have  the  care  of 
small  children,  where  she  would  be  received  as  one 
of  the  family ;  no  objection  to  the  country;  wages  not 
so  much  of  an  object  as  permanent  home,  address 
H.  H.,  Transcript  Office  f 

They  laughed  at  this,  Helen  forlornly  and  help 
lessly  with  the  rest.  They  could  not  realise  her 
ambition,  and  they  did  not  believe  in  her  necessity : 
JVlrs.  Butler  because  she  felt  that  all  Helen  need 
really  do  was  to  go  to  Europe  with  her,  and  return 
to  marry  Robert  Fenton  as  soon  as  he  could  get 
leave  to  come  home ;  the  young  girls  because  they 
had  no  experience  of  life,  and  could  not  imagine 
Helen's  case.  They  were  merry  about  her  projects 
all  through  lunch,  and  Helen  herself  felt  that  she 
was  behaving  very  ridiculously  in  pretending  to  be 
anything  but  the  well-taken-care-of  young  lady  that 
she  had  always  been.  The  world  which  she  had 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  171 

touched  yesterday  became  as  unreal  in  its  turn  as  it 
had  made  her  old  life  seem. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Marian,  who  had  given  the 
subject  less  attention  than  the  rest,  and  had  laughed 
at  Helen  with  half  her' mind  all  the  while  on  her 
approaching  marriage ;  "I  will  tell  you.  In  these 
days  Helen  must  take  to  some  form  of  keramics.  I 
wonder  that  we  didn't  think  of  it  before.  How 
could  we  discuss  this  subject  in  Beverley,  of  all 
places,  and  not  think  of  pottery  ?  Helen  must 
decorate  pottery  for  a  living." 

"  0  yes !  and  she  can  drive  over  to  the  pottery 
this  afternoon  with  us,  and  select  the  shapes !" 
clamoured  the  younger  sisters. 

Their  noise  submerged  Mrs.  Butler's  rebukes; 
there  was  open  rebellion  to  her  voice. 

"  Mamma  ! "  cried  Jessie,  "  you  needn't  try  to  put 
us  down  about  this.  It 's  an  extraordinary  case ! 
We  've  never  had  the  opportunity  before,  to  decide 
the  vocation  of  a  young  lady  who  wants  a  lucrative 
employment.  Do  say  you  '11  decorate  pottery  for  a 
living,  Helen  !" 

"Do!  do!"  pleaded  all  the  rest.  They  had  left 
their  places  and  gathered  round  her  in  postures 
of  supplication. 

Helen  was  swept  along  in  the  tide.  "  I  don't 
know  anything  about  keramics,"  she  laughed,  turning 
upon  the  group. 

"  That 's  the  beauty  of  the  profession,"  they 
shouted  in  reply.  "  You  don't  need  to  know  any 
thing  about  it." 


172  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"I  can't  draw!" 

"Drawing's  the  very  last  thing  that's  wanted  for 
art-pottery.  Say  that  you  '11  drive  over  wilITuslmd 
select  the  shapes  !" 

"  You  must  first  begin  with  a  bean-pot,  like  that 
pretty  little  Mrs.  Gay,"  said  Jessie  Butler.  "You 
ought  to  have  heard  her  talk  about  it :  so  colonial, 
so  in  character  with  Beverley ! "  The  young  girl  gave 
the  tone  and  the  languish.  "  She  decorated  it  with 
a  flowering  bean ;  they  say  she  thought  that  was  the 
kind  they  baked.  Perhaps  you  '11  find  that  they  've 
begun  to  give  bean-pots  an  aesthetic  shape.  Miss 
Harkness's  bean-pots  will  become  the  fashion.  We 
shall  have  a  course  of  beans  in  their  native  earthen 
ware,  at  dinners,  and  when  the  pot  comes  in,  every 
body  will  put  on  their  pince-nez,  and  crane  over,  and 
ask,  'Is  that  a  Harkness,  Mrs.  Jones  f" 

"No,  no!  I  can't  go  with  you!"  cried  Helen; 
"  I  'm  going  back  to  Boston  this  afternoon." 

They  all  protested,  but  Helen  stood  firm, 
feeling  that  it  was  her  one  chance  for  life,  or  for 
making  a  living.  If  she  was  ever  to  put  in  force 
her  resolutions  to  be  something  and  to  do  something, 
she  could  not  get  away  too  soon  from  an  atmosphere 
in  which  no  one,  not  even  herself,  could  regard  them 
seriously.  It  was  a  trying  ordeal,  this  pity  of  Mrs. 
Butler's,  and  this  jocose  incredulity  of  the  young 
girls  ;  yet  as  Helen  rode  back  to  town,  she  was  more 
and  more  satisfied  that  there  was  something  possible 
and  practical  in  Marian's  suggestion.  She  recalled 
some  pretty  shapes  of  pottery  which  she  had  seen 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  173 

in  a  shop-window,  and  which  seemed  to  her  more 
stupidly  decorated  than  anything  she  could  do  if  she 
did  her  worst.  They  were  there  on  sale,  and  some 
body  had  been  paid  for  doing  them,  or  expected  to 
be  paid  for  it.  The  conclusion  from  the  premises 
was  irresistible,  and  Helen  found  herself  impatient 
to  arrive  and  begin  work.  She  could  really  draw 
very  prettily,  though  she  had  denied  her  gift ;  she 
was  even  a  clever  copyist ;  but  she  knew  that  she 
lacked  the  imaginative  impulse,  and  she  had  not 
cared  for  what  she  could  do,  because  so  many  others 
could  do  it  as  well. 

As  soon  as  she  left  the  train  she  hastened  to  this 
shop,  where,  besides  the  decorated  pots  and  vases, 
she  had  seen  a  good  many  uncontaminated  examples 
of  the  Beverley  ware.  She  was  vexed  to  find  the 
place  already  closed,  and  she  could  hardly  wait  for 
the  morning. 

She  hurried  from  her  breakfast  to  the  shop  in  the 
morning;  when  her  purchase  came  home,  and  she 
unpacked  it  on  her  bed  (the  largest  and  safest  surface 
in  her  room),  she  cowered  a  little  to  see  it  so  great 
in  quantity.  She  blushed  to  find  herself  making 
such  an  ambitious  beginning,  and  though  five  dollars 
had  seemed  a  great  deal  to  spend,  she  wished  for  the 
moment  that  it  had  not  bought  quite  so  much.  But 
this  was  foolish ;  of  course  she  must  spoil  some  of 
the  designs,  and  since  she  was  going  to  try  a  variety 
of  decorations,  she  should  want  a  variety  of  jars. 
She  set  them  all  on  the  shelf  of  her  closet,  which 
she  locked ;  she  folded  up  the  wrapping-paper  and 


174  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

tucked  it  away  ;  she  even  concealed  the  string ;  and 
after  putting  on  her  hat  and  veil  for  the  street,  she 
had  to  sit  down  and  have  a  paroxysm  of  guilty  con 
sciousness  before  she  could  summon  courage  to  go 
out  on  her  next  errand. 

She  was  going  to  a  shop  where  they  sold  artists' 
materials,  to  get  her  colours,  and  to  pick  up  any  hints 
they  could  give  her  there  about  her  work.  They 
were  not  personally  very  well  informed,  but  they 
sold  her  several  little  books  which  had  keramic 
designs  in  them,  and  which  would  tell  her  all  she 
wished  to  know.  After  she  had  bought  them,  she 
thought  them  rather  poverty-stricken  in  their  pat 
terns,  and  as  she  passed  a  print-shop  window  she 
saw  that  pretty  series  of  engravings,  illustrative  of 
the  old  fable  of  the  storks  and  the  babies ;  and  the 
keramic  fitness  of  storks  at  once  struck  her.  The 
prints  were  rather  expensive,  and  Helen  thought 
that  she  could  not  get  on  without  the  whole  set. 
Then,  as  the  matter  developed  in  her  mind,  a  great 
idea  occurred  to  her :  Flaxman's  illustrations  of 
Homer.  They  were  of  course  the  only  things  to 
copy  in  the  classic  shapes.  The  book  cost  more  than 
she  supposed  it  would,  but  as  she  meant  to  stop 
with  that,  she  believed  she  might  afford  it,  and  at 
any  rate  she  bought  it.  She  was  afraid  to  look  the 
whole  sum  in  the  face  at  first,  but  her  hopes  rose 
with  her  rapid  walk  homeward,  and  she  finally  con 
fronted  the  fifteen  dollars  with  serene  courage. 

The  next  three  weeks  were  given  to  very  ardent 
if  not  very  diligent  labour.     Helen  had  an  insuper. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  175 

able  shyness  about  her  enterprise  ;  she  managed  so 
that  she  might  put  everything  out  of  sight  at  a 
moment's  warning,  if  any  one  came  to  her  room. 

Before  actually  beginning  upon  the  vases,  Helen 
schooled  herself  in  reproducing  on  paper  the  designs 
she  meant  to  use,  and  this  took  time.  She  was  also 
interrupted  by  excursions  to  Beverley;  but  she  did 
not  count  this  as  loss  altogether,  for  she  was  able  to 
make  several  studies  in  colour  of  the  low  blackberry 
vine,  now  in  its  richest  autumnal  bronze,  and  of 
certain  sea- weeds,  with  which  she  meant  to  decorate 
several  pieces.  She  did  three  with  storks,  and  had 
a  fourth  half-done  when  she  let  it  fall.  She  wrapped 
the  fragments  in  paper,  and  took  them  out  at  twilight, 
and  dropped  them  in  the  street  some  distance  away, 
that  the  pieces  might  not  be  traced  to  her,  and 
so  proceeded  to  the  Flaxmans.  She  chose  three 
subjects  among  these  :  The  old  nurse  Euryclea  recog 
nising  Ulysses  as  she  bathes  his  feet ;  Penelope 
carrying  the  bow  of  Ulysses  to  the  Suitors ;  and  the 
meeting  of  Ulysses  and  Penelope.  These  all  related 
to  the  return  of  the  wanderer,  and  they  went  very 
prettily  round  the  vases.  Ulysses  following  the 
homeward  car  of  Nausicaa  from  the  coast  on  which 
she  found  him  shipwrecked,  was  a  subject  which 
Helen  instinctively  rejected,  though  the  lines  were 
lovely,  and  she  felt  that  she  could  do  it  easily.  The 
jar  which  she  decorated  with  the  seaweed  had  a 
band  of  shells  round  the  middle  ;  a  slanting  flight  of 
birds  encircled  the  vases,  over  which  she  taught  the 
blackberry  vine  to  wanton. 


176  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

She  had  many  alternating  moods  of  exaltation 
and  despair  while  upon  this  work,  but  when  it  was 
all  done,  and  the  pots  set  out  in  a  fair  row  on  her 
window-shelf,  and  she  retired  a  pace  or  two  with  her 
pencil  at  her  lip  to  get  their  entire  effect,  she  could 
not  but  own  that  they  seemed  very  successful.  At 
that  distance  certain  defects  of  drawing — such  as 
that  which  gave  Penelope  bearing  the  bow  rather  a 
pert  and  mincing  look — and  other  blemishes  were 
subdued,  but  even  when  taken  up  severally  and 
scrutinised  merely  at  arm's  length,  the  vases  bore 
the  ordeal  of  critical  inspection  very  well.  "  And 
no  one,"  thought  Helen,  "will  ever  look  at  them 
more  severely  than  I  have." 

She  sank  into  her  chair,  which  she  drew  up  in 
front  of  her  work,  and  indulged  a  long  reverie.  In 
this  she  dramatised  her  appearance  at  one  of  those 
charming  shops  where  they  deal  in  such  things ;  she 
set  little  scenes  in  which  the  proprietors  called  one 
another  up  to  look  at  her  vases ;  and  she  dialogued 
their  compliments  and  her  own  evasive  acceptance  of 
them.  They  ended  by  asking  very  respectfully  if 
she  could  not  be  persuaded  to  employ  a  part  of  her 
leisure  in  doing  something  of  the  kind  for  them; 
and  on  her  replying  that  these  were  for  sale,  they 
had  instantly  offered  her  a  price  for  them  that  passed 
her  wildest  hopes ;  that  seemed  so  much  too  much, 
indeed,  that  she  insisted  upon  abating  something 
from  it.  Struck  by  this  nobleness  in  her,  they  had 
conversed  in  low  tones  together ;  and  then  the  senior 
member  of  the  firm  had  confessed  that  they  had 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  177 

some  hesitation  in  asking  her  to  design  certain  friezes 
which  they  were  to  do  for  a  cottage  at  Newport,  and 
their  admiration  for  her  work  must  be  their  excuse 
if  they  were  proposing  something  quite  out  of  the 
way;  but  they  begged  her  to  remember  that  two 
ladies  in  London  had  taken  up  decorative  archi 
tecture  as  a  profession,  and  they  trusted  they  were 
not  wrong.  Then  Helen  had  replied,  0  no,  indeed  ! 
She  was  only  too  much  flattered  by  their  confidence 
in  her,  and  she  would  be  very  glad  to  think  it  over ; 
all  that  she  feared  was  that  she  would  not  be  able 
to  meet  their  expectation ;  at  which  they  had  laughed, 
and  said  they  had  no  such  fear,  and  had  drawn  her  a 
check  for  her  vases,  and  had  added  a  few  hundreds 
as  a  sort  of  retainer  in  the  matter  of  the  friezes.  At 
this  point  Helen  broke  from  her  reveries  with  "  What 
silly,  silly  nonsense  !  What  a  simpleton  I  am  !" 

While  she  was  in  good  humour  with  them,  she 
"resolved  to  pack  her  vases  in  the  basket  that  she  had 
got  for  that  purpose,  and  when  each  was  carefully 
wrapped,  and  put  in,  she  laughed  to  find  the  basket 
looking  like  that  of  an  old  Jew  who  used  to  come  to 
the  kitchen  door  to  sell  Bohemian  glass,  when  she 
was  a  child.  The  matter  of  transportation  was  one 
that  she  did  not  consider  till  the  next  morning,  when 
it  flashed  upon  her  that  she  could  not  go  carrying 
that  basket  about.  She  must  drive,  and  though 
this  did  not  accord  with  her  severe  ideas  of  economy, 
she  had  to  own  that  she  had  been  rather  lavish  in 
her  preparations  for  work,  and  that  it  would  be 
foolish  to  try  now  to  scrimp  at  an  impossible  point. 
M 


178 

She  would  take  a  coup6  by  the  hour,  and  perhaps 
get  it  cheaper,  if  she  had  it  several  hours ;  though 
when  she  Avent  out  for  the  carriage,  she  found  the 
driver  inflexible,  and  she  had  to  take  it  at  the  usual 
rate.  She  bade  him  drive  her  to  Mrs.  Hewitt's  door, 
and  she  wanted  him  to  go  up  with  her  and  carry 
down  her  basket ;  but  he,  seeing  her  a  single  defence 
less  woman,  boldly  answered  that  he  could  not  leave 
his  horse;  and  Helen,  indignant,  and  trembling  for 
her  secret,  was  forced  to  bring  it  down  herself. 
Happily,  Miss  Root  had  gone  out ;  the  Evanses'  door 
was  closed ;  and  she  encountered  Mrs.  Hewitt  neither 
in  going  up  nor  in  coming  down.  When  she  lifted 
the  basket  on  the  carriage  seat  she  was  out  of 
breath,  but  exultant  at  her  escape,  and  with  unbroken 
courage  she  ordered  the  driver  to  go  to  the  address 
given  him.  But  it  now  occurred  to  her  that  she 
could  not  lug  that  great  hamper  across  a  crowded 
pavement  into  a  shop-door,  and  she  must  sell  her 
wares  by  sample.  She  employed  the  drive  in  taking 
out  the  best  of  the  stork  vases;  one  of  the  most 
characteristic  Flaxmans ;  and  the  blackberry  and 
bird-banded  jar.  She  scarcely  dared  look  at  them 
flow,  but  as  she  gathered  them  to  her  bosom  with 
one  hand,  while  she  caught  up  her  skirt  with  the 
other  to  alight  from  the  coupe,  it  was  with  quite  as 
much  hope  as  fear  that  her  heart  palpitated  against 
those  classic  shapes.  She  pulled  down  her  veil,  how 
ever,  for  she  knew  that  she  was  blushing  violently, 
and  when  she  stepped  upon  the  ground,  she  found 
herself  giddy. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  179 

The  people  were  all  busy  when  she  entered  the 
store,  and  the  gentleman  to  whom  she  hoped  to 
speak  was  occupied  with  a  lady  whom  Helen  knew  : 
a  lady  who^gave  proof  of  having  lived  abroad  by  the 
loud  and  confident  voice  which  she  had  succeeded  in 
managing,  not  like  an  Englishwoman  but  like  an 
Englishman.  Helen  shrank  from  her  recognition, 
and  lurked  about,  pretending  to  be  interested  in 
distant  bricabrac,  and  growing  momentarily  more 
faint  and  tremulous,  but  when  the  lady  went  out  and 
the  gentleman  turned  from  closing  the  door  after 
her,  Helen  came  quickly  forward.  She  plucked  up 
an  excited  gasp  from  somewhere,  and  waiving  the 
respectful  kindness  with  which  he  bent  to  listen, 
said,  "  I  Ve  something  here  I'd  like  to  show  you," 
and  she  unfolded  one  of  her  vases,  and  as  he  took  it 
up,  with  "  Ah,  yes  !  Something  in  keramics,"  she 
unwrapped  the  others  and  set  them  on  the  shelf  near 
which  they  stood.  "  Why,  this  is  very  nice,  Miss 
Harkness,"  said  the  dealer,  "  very  nice  indeed."  He 
carried  all  three  of  the  vases  to  the  light  and  re 
turned  with  them,  holding  out  the  bird-banded  jar. 
"  I  like  this  one  best.  You  Ve  managed  these  birds 
and  this  vine  in  quite  the  Japanese  spirit :  they  're 
the  only  people  who  understand  the  use  of  uncon- 
ventionalised  forms.  The  way  your  blackberry 
climbs  into  the  neck  of  your  vase  is  thoroughly 
Japanese.  These  storks  are  good,  too,  very  effec 
tively  handled.  The  classic  subject — well,  I  don't 
think  that 's  quite  so  successful,  do  you  1 " 

"  No,  I  don't  know  that  it  is,"  said  Helen,  so 


180  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

grateful  for  his  praise  of  the  others  that  she  would 
willingly  have  allowed  this  to  be  a  disgraceful 
failure. 

"  Have  you  ever  done  anything  of  this  kind  be 
fore  1 "  asked  the  dealer. 

"  No,"  replied  Helen. 

"Very  remarkable,"  said  the  dealer.  He  had  set 
the  vases  back  on  the  shelf  again,  and  now  gazed  at 
them  somewhat  absently.  "  It  shows  what  can  be 
done  with  this  sort  of  thing.  See  here  !"  he  called 
to  his  partner,  who  was  also  disengaged.  "Here's 
something  pretty,  and  rather  new  T' 

"Your  work,  Miss  Harkness?"  asked  the  other 
partner  politely,  coming  up.  He  said  much  the 
same  things  that  the  first  had  said ;  he  even  stopped 
a  young  lady  assistant  who  was  passing,  and  made 
her  admire  the  jars.  Then  he  also  fell  into  a  musing 
silence,  while  Helen  waited  with  a  thickly  beating 
heart  for  the  rest  of  her  reverie  to  come  true,  and 
stayed  herself  against  a  counter,  till  these  amiable 
partners  should  formulate  some  offer  for  her  wares. 
The  young  lady  assistant  ebbed  noiselessly  away, 
and  went  to  writing  at  a  high  desk ;  the  second 
partner  shifted  from  his  right  foot  to  his  left,  turned 
his  head  abruptly,  and  feigned  to  be  called  suddenly 
by  some  duty  in  the  direction  to  which  he  looked. 
His  going  roused  the  first  partner.  "  Yes  !"  he  said 
with  a  deep,  nasal  sigh,  in  coming  to  himself,  and 
was  sinking  again  into  his  abstraction,  when  he 
seemed  to  think  of  something.  "  Excuse  me  a 
moment,"  he  said,  and  went  and  looked  into  the 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  181 

show  window,  and  then  into  a  dark  corner  in  the 
back  part  of  the  room.  "  I  thought  we  had  some  of 
that  Cambridge  pottery,"  he  called  out  to  his 
partner. 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  remaining  aloof,  "  we  only 
had  a  few  pieces." 

"  Well  !"  said  the  first,  coming  back  to  Helen. 
"  I  supposed  we  had  some  of  it  left.  I  was  going  to 
suggest,  Miss  Harkness,  if  you  're  interested  in  this 
sort  of  thing,  that  you  ought  to  see  that  North 
Cambridge  ware.  Have  you  ever  seen  it  1" 

"  No,"  answered  Helen  faintly. 

"  It  isn't  so  native  quite  in  sentiment  as  this 
Beverley  ware,  but  it 's  much  more  refined  in  form. 
It's  beautifully  finished.  Really,  I  don't  see  how  it 
falls  short  of  that  Copenhagen  pottery  in  finish.  If 
you  have  plenty  of  time  on  your  hands,  you  couldn't 
do  a  better  thing  than  go  out  to  see  them  making  it. 
I  think  it  would  interest  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Helen  ;  her  head  whirled,  but 
she  resolved  to  speak  steadily  if  it  killed  her.  "I 
shall  certainly  go.  I  'm  glad  you  mentioned  it.  I 
never  saw  any  of  it."  She  fumbled  piteously  at  the 
papers  which  she  had  taken  off  her  vases,  and 
the  dealer  brought  some  softer  stuff,  and  skilfully 
wrapped  them  up  for  her. 

"These  things  are  quite  worthy  of  Japanese 
paper,"  he  said,  indicating  the  silky  texture  of  the 
fabric  he  had  used.  "I'm  sure  I'm  very  much 
obliged  to  you  for  letting  us  see  your  work,  Miss 
Harkness.  It 's  charming.  I  hope  you  '11  keep  on  at 


182  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

it.  I  'm  interested  business-wise,  you  know,"  he 
added,  "  in  having  you  ladies  take  up  these  graceful 
arts.  And  be  sure  and  go  to  see  that  Cambridge 
ware.  We  can  get  some  of  it  for  you,  if  you  wish." 
He  had  followed  her  to  the  door,  and  now  opened  it 
for  her,  with  a  bow. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Helen.  "  I  won't  forget.  Good- 
morning." 

"  Good-morning." 

She  got  into  the  coupe,  and  put  her  vases  carefully 
back  in  the  basket,  and  sat  down  on  the  seat  beside 
it.  She  quivered  with  the  intense  and  bitter  disap 
pointment,  and  she  burnt  with  shame,  as  every 
particular  of  her  interview  blazoned  itself  upon  her 
consciousness,  and  she  realised  that  she  had  no  one 
but  herself  to  blame  for  the  precise  result.  The 
people  had  been  thoroughly  kind  and  sympathetic ; 
they  had  praised  her  work,  and  had  been  far  more 
interested  in  it  than  she  had  any  right  to  expect ; 
but  their  taking  her  on  her  old  social  plane  had 
made  it  impossible  for  her  to  meet  them  on  any 
other.  Apparently,  they  had  never  once  imagined 
that  she  wished  to  sell  these  things,  and  she  had  not 
known  how  to  approach  the  fact.  They  had  thought 
she  wished  merely  to  show  them  as  matters  of 
aesthetic  interest,  but  if  they  had  not  supposed  she 
came  for  advice,  what  could  they  think  of  her  con 
ceit  in  making  such  a  display,  and  of  staying  and 
staying  till  she  had  all  but  to  be  turned  out  of 
doors  1  All  that  about  the  Cambridge  ware  must 
have  been  a  polite  ruse  to  get  rid  of  her, — to  spare 


A   WOMAN'S   REASON.  183 

her  feelings  while  they  relieved  their  own.  What 
had  kept  her  from  telling  them  honestly  and  bravely 
what  she  had  come  for  1  Did  she  really  expect  them 
to  ask  her  if  her  work  was  for  sale,  as  in  her  reverie  ; 
and  then  offer  her  that  frieze  to  do  in  Newport  ?  It 
was  intolerable  !  She  literally  bowed  herself  down 
in  self-contempt,  while  her  heart  ached  with  the 
sickening  defeat  of  her  hopes. 

"  Where  to  ?"  asked  a  gruff  voice. 

She  had  been  sitting  still  in  her  coupe",  and  this 
was  the  voice  of  the  driver,  as  he  leaned  over  from 
his  seat,  and  projected  the  demand  in  at  the  win 
dow. 

"Oh!"  cried  Helen.  Then  she  hesitated  in  a 
flutter.  She  had  never  thought  where  she  should  go 
next;  she  had  not  taken  any  next  place  into  account. 
"Oh!  Drive — drive—  She  hesitated  again,  and 
then  she  gave  the  address  of  the  street  where  she 
had  bought  her  pottery.  She  remembered  the 
decorated  pieces  there ;  and  they  might  like  hers. 
At  any  rate  the  people  did  not  know  her,  and  she 
should  have  the  courage  to  offer  them  her  work. 

She  began  somewhat  as  at  the  other  place  :  "  I 
thought  you  might  like  to  see — ,"  and  then  corrected 
herself,  and  said,  "I  wished  to  show  you  my  decora 
tion  of  some  of  the  Beverley  ware  I  got  here  the 
other  day." 

"  0  yes,"  said  the  shopman,  —  warily,  Helen 
thought.  But  she  undid  her  vases,  and  saw  him 
smile  in  approval.  "They've  come  out  very  well," 
he  added,  as  if  they  had  been  subjected  to  a  process. 


184  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"Here  are  some  new  shapes,  which  we've  just  got 
in  to-day." 

Helen  only  glanced  at  the  vases  he  indicated.  "  I 
see  you  have  some  decorated  pieces  here,"  she  said 
hastily.  "  Would  you  like  to  buy  these  1 " 

The  man's  smile  gave  place  to  a  look  of  something 
like  anguish.  He  took  off  his  hat,  and  scratched  his 
head.  "  Well — well — not  this  morning,  I  think. 
The  fact  is,  it  ;s  a  new  thing,  you  know ;  and  these 
decorated  pieces  are  principally  to  show  what  may 
be  done  with  the  ware.  We  do  sell  them,  but  we 
don't — we  don't  buy.  By  and  by,  I  hope  we  shall 
be  able  to  do  so,  but  as  yet  we  only  expect  to  supply 
the  plain  ware  to  ladies  who  wish  to  paint  it.  There 
are  places  where — "  He  looked  still  more  distressed, 
and  stopped. 

Helen  hastily  wrapped  her  jars  up  again,  and 
turned  to  go.  The  man  followed  her  a  few  paces. 

"  Your  own  work  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen  shortly,  without  looking  round. 
"  Drive  slowly  along  Washington  Street,"  she 
ordered,  and  as  the  coupe"  started  she  blamed  herself 
for  not  re-opening  the  parley  at  the  man's  last  ques 
tion,  and  trying  to  learn  of  him  something  about 
those  other  places  he  had  begun  to  mention.  She 
was  too  much  bewildered  to  do  that,  but  it  must 
have  looked  like  pride.  Helen  resolved  now  that 
she  would  be  not  only  bold  but  meek. 

She  had  a  plan  of  stopping  at  various  little  shops, 
in  whose  windows  she  remembered  seeing  artistic 
caprices,  like  pictures  in  birch-bark,  and  comic 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  185 

designs  jig-sawed  out  of  white-wood.  They  might 
somewhere  take  a  fancy  to  her  vases.  She  stopped 
accordingly  wherever  bricabrac  showed  itself  in  any 
sort.  The  street  was  full  of  people,  that  is  to  say  of 
women,  thronging  in  and  out  of  the  shop-doors,  and 
intent  upon  spending  the  money  of  their  natural 
protectors.  It  is  always  a  wonderful  spectacle,  and 
in  the  circuit  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  about  the  con 
fluence  of  Washington  and  Winter  Streets,  it  enforces 
itself  with  incomparable  vividness. 

There  is  doubtless  more  shopping  in  New  York  or 
London,  or  Paris,  but  in  those  cities  it  is  dispersed 
over  a  larger  area,  and  nowhere  in  the  world  per 
haps  has  shopping  such  an  intensity  of  physiognomy 
as  in  Boston.  It  is  unsparingly  sincere  in  its  expres 
sion.  It  means  business,  and  the  sole  business  of 
the  city  seems  to  be  shopping.  The  lovely  faces  of 
the  swarming  crowd  were  almost  fierce  in  their  pre 
occupation,  as  they  pressed  into  the  shop-doors ;  as 
they  issued  from  them,  and  each  lady  stooped  and 
caught  the  loop  of  her  train  in  one  hand,  while  she 
clasped  half-a-dozen  paper  parcels  to  her  heart  with 
the  other,  those  faces  exhibited  no  relaxation  of 
their  eager  purpose.  Where  do  they  all  come  from, 
and  where  does  the  money  all  come  from  ?  It  is  a 
fearful  problem,  and  the  imagination  must  shrink 
from  following  these  multitudinous  shoppers  to  their 
homes,  in  city  and  suburb,  when  they  arrive  frayed 
and  limp  and  sore,  with  overspent  allowances,  and  the 
hard  task  before  them  of  making  the  worse  appear 
the  better  reason. 


186  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Helen  was  dismayed  to  realise  herself  the  only  one 
of  all  her  sex  who  wished  to  sell,  and  not  to  buy, 
and  at  the  shops  which  she  entered  they  were 
puzzled  to  conceive  of  her  in  that  unique  character. 
They  were  busy  with  the  buyers,  and  when  she  had 
waited  about  patiently,  and  had  at  last  found  a 
moment  to  show  her  work,  they  only  considered  it 
in  various  patterns  of  indifference  and  refusal.  For 
the  most  part  they  scarcely  looked  at  it,  and  Helen 
found  her  scantest  toleration  at  those  places  where 
she  was  obliged  to  deal  with  women.  Commonly 
they  could  not  put  her  errand  and  her  coupe  intel 
ligibly  together ;  the  conjunction  seemed  to  raise 
suspicion.  In  one  shop  it  raised  laughter,  which 
followed  her  from  the  young  lady  behind  the  counter, 
who  said  quite  audibly  to  the  young  lady  at  the 
desk:  "Actually  in  a  coupe  !  Think  I- should  walk, 
myself  ! "  Helen,  who  had  now  hardened  her  sensi 
bilities  to  everything,  took  the  hint,  and  let  the 
carriage  come  after  her  from  shop  to  shop.  But 
that  served  no  purpose  except  perhaps  to  excite  the 
fears  of  the  driver  lest  she  should  try  to  escape  from 
him.  When  every  place  had  been  tried,  she  still 
had  her  vases  on  her  arm,  which,  when  she  got  them 
back  into  the  basket,  she  perceived  was  sore  with 
carrying  them. 

"  Home,"  she  said  to  the  driver,  and  leaned  back 
against  the  cushions,  and  closed  her  hot  dry  eyes. 
She  was  so  benumbed  by  what  she  had  undergone, 
that  she  did  not  feel  very  keenly,  and  her  physical 
fatigue  helped  off  the  mental  pain.  Presently  the 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  187 

carriage  stopped,  and  she  saw  that  they  were  in  a 
jam  of  vehicles  in  front  of  a  large  jewelry  store. 
There  had  been  something  the  matter  with  her 
watch,  and  now  she  thought  she  would  have  it  looked 
at ;  and  she  dismounted  and  went  in.  She  gave  her 
watch  to  a  man  behind  one  of  the  counters,  and 
while  he  screwed  a  glass  into  his  eye,  and  began  to 
peer  and  blow  into  the  works,  Helen  cast  a  listless 
look  into  a  window  where  there  were  some  jars  of 
limoges  and  plates  of  modern  majolica.  A  gentle 
man,  who  did  not  look  quite  like  a  clerk,  came 
forward.  Helen  carelessly  asked  him  the  price  of 
some  of  the  faience.  It  seemed  very  little,  and  he 
explained  that  it  was  merely  earthenware  painted  in 
imitation  of  the  faience,  and  began  to  praise  it,  and 
to  tell  who  did  it.  Helen  did  not  listen  very  atten 
tively  ;  she  was  thinking  of  her  own  work,  and 
wondering  if  she  should  have  courage  to  ask  him  to 
look  at  it,  and  how,  if  she  should,  she  could  get  it 
from  the  coupe  without  awkwardness,  when  he  said, 
"I  see  you  have  something  there  in  the  way  of  our 
business."  Then  she  saw  that  she  had  mechanically 
gathered  up  her  three  vases  and  brought  them  in 
with  her  on  her  arm  ;  she  had  long  ceased  to  wrap 
and  unwrap  them.  She  looked  at  them  stupidly,  but 
said,  "Yes,  this  is  something  I've  been  doing;"  and  the 
gentleman  politely  took  them,  and  admired  them  with 
a  civility  that  was  so  cordial  to  her  after  the  ordeal  she 
had  passed  through  that  the  tears  came  behind  her  veil. 
"Do  you  think,"  she  asked  very  timidly,  "you 
would  like  to  buy  something  of  the  kind  1 " 


188 

UM — m — no,"  said  the  gentleman  musingly,  as  he 
turned  one  of  the  vases  over  in  his  hand. 

Helen's  breath  came  again,  and  she  turned  to  get 
her  watch,  which  the  workman  said  was  ready ;  one 
of  the  wheels  had  caught,  merely ;  and  there  was  no 
charge.  She  took  back  her  vase,  and  nodded  to  the 
gentleman.  He  did  not  bow  very  definitively  in 
return,  but  followed  her  to  the  door. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  said,  "  there  's  very  little  sale  for 
these  things  now.  The  whole  decoration  business 
has  been  overdone.  However,"  he  added,  after  a 
pause  in  which  he  seemed  to  take  in  the  fact  of 
Helen's  black,  "we  might  chance  to  dispose  of  them 
for  you.  If  you  like,  you  can  leave  them  here  on 
sale."  Helen  promptly  handed  him  the  vases. 

"You  mustn't  form  any  expectations,"  he  cautioned. 
"It  will  be  a  chance.  What  shall  I  ask  for  them?" 

"  Oh,  anything — anything  you  can  get,"  cried 
Helen  desperately.  "Nobody  wants  them." 

"  Well,  we  '11  see,"  said  the  other,  and  he  now  set 
the  vases  in  the  window  between  the  jars  of  imitation 
faience. 

Helen  timidly  offered  him  her  card,  and  she  stole 
a  glance  at  the  vases  from  the  outside,  and  thought 
they  looked  very  common,  and  dreadfully  personal. 
Their  being  there  gave  her  neither  hope  nor  plea 
sure. 

The  door  of  the  coupe  stuck  fast,  and  while  she 
stood  tugging  at  it,  a  policeman  stepped  up  and 
opened  it  for  her.  "  See  here,  my  man,"  he  said  to 
the  driver,  "  you  'd  better  get  down  and  wait  on  your 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  189 

passengers  decently,  or  give  up  the  business.  What 's 
your  number  ? "  and,  while  the  man  mumbled  some 
thing  in  explanation  and  excuse,  Helen  looked  up 
into  the  face  of  her  champion.  She  failed  at  first  to 
recognise  the  civil  fellow  who  had  come  home  with 
her  father  the  day  of  his  seizure,  and  whom  she  had 
met  on  the  steps;  but  the  officer  knew  her,  and 
touched  his  hat. 

Then  she  remembered  him.  "  Oh,  is  it  you  1 "  she 
cried,  as  if  it  were  some  old  friend. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  officer,  very  much  pleased. 

"  I  Ve  always  wanted  to  see  you  again  and  thank 
you,"  began  Helen. 

"  Oh,  that  's  all  right,"  answered  the  officer.  "  Your 
father  was  a  man,  I  can  tell  you.  I — I — I  was 
awfully  sorry  for  you,  Miss  Harkness."  He  spoke 
with  such  simple  and  honest  cordiality  that  Helen 
felt  it  nothing  odd  to  be  shaking  hands  with  a 
policeman  at  high  noon  in  Washington  Street. 

41  Thank  you,  you  are  very  kind.  Good-bye.  I 
shall  never  forget  your  goodness  to  him  that  day." 

"  Oh,  don't  mention  it,"  said  the  policeman.  He 
touched  his  hat  again,  and  vanished  in  the  crowd  j 
and  she  reflected  that  she  had  not  asked  his  name. 
As  she  looked  in  the  direction  he  had  gone,  she  saw 
not  him  but  herself.  She  saw  herself  standing  on 
thejthreshold  of  her  old,  lost  home,  and  turning  to 
look  after  this  man  with  the  stare  of  amused,  haughty 
wonder,  that  a  girl  bred  in  ease  and  fashion,  and 
fondly  shielded  from  all  that  was  rude  or  was  abrupt 
in  life,  might  fitly  bend  upon  such  a  curious  piece 


190  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

of  the  social  mechanism,  unexpectedly  and  incon 
ceivably  related  to  herself.  Her  attitude  implied 
secure  possession  in  perpetuity  of  whatever  was 
gracefully  supreme  in  the  world,  of  whatever  was 
prosperously  fastidious  and  aloof.  It  wa~s  ""enough 
to  remember  this  attitude  now.  ' 

The  coupe  stopped  at  Mrs.  Hewitt's  narrow  door, 
and  the  man  got  down  and  helped  her  out.  "  I 
guess  the  horse  is  tired  enough  to  stand  while  I  carry 
this  basket  up  for  you,"  he  said. 

Helen  had  no  gratitude  to  express,  and  she  did 
not  thank  him  for  this  service  when  she  took  out 
her  purse  to  pay  him.  She  had  kept  the  carriage 
two  hours  and  a  half,  and  he  said  they  never  counted 
less  than  an  hour,  but  he  would  call  it  four  dollars. 
As  he  folded  the  bills,  he  said  he  hoped  she  did 
not  blame  him  for  not  opening  the  coup6  door  for 
her;  she  got  out  and  in  so  often,  and  his  horse 
always  started  up  so  when  he  left  the  box. 

"  O  no,  no  ! "  cried  Helen.  "  Only  go,  please." 
She  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and  she  flung  herself 
upon  the  bed,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  pillow,  and 
drenched  it  with  her  rushing  tears.  Her  head  ached, 
and  her  heart  was  sore  in  her  breast.  All  that  had 
happened  repeated  itself  with  ceaseless  iteration  in  her 
mind  ;  all  the  looks,  all  the  tones,  all  the  words ;  they 
burnt,  and  rang,  and  hummed  in  her  brain ;  the 
long  ordeal  of  her  disappointment  dramatised  itself 
to  the  inner  sense  in  thousand-fold  swift  reverbera 
tion  ;  the  disappointment  was  as  bitter  as  if  starvation 
were  before  her,  and  the  shock  to  her  pride  was  even 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  191 

greater.  She  had  fancied,  as  she  now  realised,  that 
she  should  succeed  because  she  was  she ;  while  warn 
ing  herself  that  she  must  not  expect  anything  but 
failure,  she  had  secretly  cherished  an  ideal  of  triumph 
that  made  the  future  a  matter  of  fortunate  inspira 
tions  and  delightful  toil.  This  was  what  she  had 
really  hoped ;  and  now,  to  her  defeat  was  added  the 
stinging  sense  of  having  been  a  fool.  She  had  pro 
bably  set  to  work  quite  in  the  wrong  way ;  and  she 
had  been  not  only  a  fool,  but  such  a  coward  as  to  be 
afraid  to  say  that  she  wished  to  sell  her  work  to 
the  only  people  who  could  take  a  special  interest  in 
it.  Yet  they  might  not  have  cared  for  it  either,  and 
if  she  had  spoken  she  would  have  had  only  one 
ignominy  the  more  to  remember.  For,  what  puzzled 
and  surprised  Helen  most  of  all  was  that  when  she 
had  taken  the  humblest  mien,  and  approached  those 
shop-people  on  their  own  level,  as  it  were,  without 
pretension  and  without  pride,  they  should  have  shown 
no  sense  of  the  sacrifice  she  had  made,  but  should 
have  trampled  upon  her  all  the  same. 

The  glamour  was  gone  from  her  experiment.  She 
was  in  the  mood  to  accept  any  conditions  of  depend 
ence  ;  she  wondered  at  the  vain  courage  with  which 
she  had  refused  the  idleness  and  uselessness  of  the 
home  offered  her  by  the  Butlers. 

The  dinner  bell  rang,  but  she  remained  with  her 
face  in  the  pillow;  after  a  while  some  one  tapped  at 
her  door,  and  then  pushed  it  softly  open  and  looked 
in,  but  she  did  not  stir.  Whoever  it  was  must  have 
thought  her  asleep,  and  so  left  her ;  yet  when  Helen 


192  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

opened  her  eyes  there  was  still  some  one  in  her 
room.  A  shawl  had  been  flung  over  her,  and  Miss 
Eoot  was  sitting  at  the  window  looking  at  her,  and 
apparently  waiting  for  her  to  wake  up. 

"Not  going  to  be  sick,  are  you?"  she  asked. 
"  You  Ve  been  sleeping  ever  since  before  dinner,  and 
Mrs.  Hewitt  asked  me  to  look  in  and  see  how  you 
were  getting  along.  I  guess  you  haven't  taken  cold ; 
she  put  the  shawl  on  you." 

"  0  no  !"  said  Helen,  rising  briskly,  in  the  first  free 
moment  of  waking,  when  care  has  not  yet  dropped 
back  upon  the  heart.  "  I  came  in  with  a  headache, 
and  thre\v  myself  on  the  bed  to  rest." 

''That  some  of  your  work1?"  Miss  Root  indicated 
with  a  nod  the  basket  which  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor  where  tho  man  had  set  it.  The  paper  had 
come  off  one  of  the  jars,  and  showed  its  decoration. 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen.  "  I  did  them— I—"  A  thought 
flashed  into  her  mind :  "  They  are  for  a  wedding 
present ! " 

"  May  I  look  at  it  f  asked  Miss  Root. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Helen,  feeling  bolder,  now  that 
she  was  protected  by  this  little  outwork  of  unreality 
against  the  invasion  of  Miss  Root's  sympathy.  She 
unwrapped  two  or  three  of  the  jars  and  set  them  on 
the  window  seat. 

Miss  Root  did  not  trouble  herself  to  take  them  up, 
but  stood  at  a  little  distance  and  glanced  at  them 
with  an  eye  that  Helen  saw  understood  arid  classed 
them,  and  that  made  her  feel  like  the  amateur  she 
was.  The  girl  turned  away  without  comment. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  193 

"  I  saw  some  just  like  them  in  a  window  as  I  came 
along  Washington  Street.  I  pity  any  poor  wretch 
that  expects  to  live  by  painting  and  selling  them." 

Miss  Root  could  not  have  meant  her  equivocal 
speech  in  unkindness,  for  she  added,  looking  back  as 
she  went  out,  "Don't  you  come  down  if  you  don't 
feel  just  right ;  I  '11  bring  up  your  supper  to  you." 

Helen  said  she  was  going  down,  and  arming  her 
self  with  the  courage  of  her  despair,  she  confronted 
the  question  of  the  tea-table  with  gaiety  even,  and 
made  light  of  her  long  nap.  She  said  she  had  been 
shopping  all  the  morning,  and  the  irony  of  the  phrase 
in  this  application  nattered  her  bitter  mood.  It  was 
a  stroke  of  the  finest  sarcasm,  could  they  but  know 
it;  and  in  her  heart  she  mocked  at  their  simple 
acceptance  of  her  statement. 

Mr.  Evans  said  he  was  surprised  she  could  sleep 
after  shopping.  When  his  wife  went  shopping  it 
kept  the  whole  family  awake  for  the  next  twenty- 
four  hours,  and  careworn  for  a  week.  Mrs.  Hewitt 
asked  about  the  fashions,  and  said  that  she  always 
found  things  just  as  cheap  and  a  good  deal  better  at 
the  large  stores,  and  you  spent  more  time  and  laid 
out  as  much  money  running  round  to  the  little  places. 
It  seemed  to  Helen  the  height  of  the  sardonic  to 
answer,  "  Yes,  it  was  quite  useless  to  go  to  the  little 
places." 

"  D'you  find  your  letters  all  right,  Miss  Harkness?" 
asked  the  landlady,  when  this  talk  had  taken  its 
course  ;  "  I  put  'em  on  the  corner  of  your  mantel." 

"No,"  said  Helen;  "I  didn't  look." 
N 


194  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  Well,  you  1l  see 'em  when  you  go  back.  They 
came  after  you  went  to  sleep.  The  most  curious 
stamps  on  /  ever  saw  ! " 

Helen's  heart  stood  still  with  fear  and  hope,  and 
"  Oh,  papa,  get  them  for  my  collection,"  pleaded  the 
little  boy. 

"  Here,"  she  said,  rising,  and  making  this  oppor 
tune  prayer  her  shelter,  "come  up  with  me,  and  you 
shall  have  them ; "  and  after  due  reproach  from  his 
mother,  he  was  suffered  to  go  with  her. 

It  was  Robert  Fenton's  handwriting  on  the  en 
velopes.  "It's  my  answer — it 's  my  sentence, — and 
I  deserve  it,"  she  said  under  her  breath,  as  she  stood 
with  the  letters  in  her  hand,  trying  to  detach  one  of 
the  stamps  with  her  trembling  fingers. 

"There,"  cried  the  boy,  "you're  tearing  it !" 

"Never  mind,"  said  Helen;  "they're  both  alike. 
I'll  cut  this  other  off  for  you  ;"  but  her  hand  shook 
so  that  she  chopped  into  the  letter  a  little  with  the 
scissors. 

"  If  I  couldn't  cut  better  than  that ! "  roared  the 
boy,  anxious  for  the  integrity  of  his  stamp.  "  What 
makes  you  get  so  white,  and  then  get  so  red  1 " 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing!"  answered  Helen,  inco 
herently.  "  Here's  your  stamp,"  she  stooped  to 
give  it.  The  child  was  pretty,  with  still  grey  eyes 
and  full  lips.  "  Will  you  kiss  me,  Tom,"  she  asked 
in  a  very  soft  trembling  voice,  "  for  good  luck  1" 
It  seemed  as  if  her  fate  hung  upon  his  will,  but 
when  he  hastily  kissed  her,  and  ran  out,  she  still 
had  not  courage  to  open  the  letters.  She  flung 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  195 

them  on  the  bed,  and  locked  the  door,  and  then 
came  back  and  looked  at  them.  She  could  see  a 
little  of  the  writing  in  one  through  the  hole  where 
she  had  cut  away  the  stamp,  and  she  tried  to  make 
out  the  words ;  they  were  such  words  as  "  from,"  and 
"for,"  and  "with." 

If  there  had  been  but  one  letter,  she  thought,  she 
should  not  have  been  afraid  of  it ;  but  this  mystery 
of  there  being  two  !  She  tried  putting  one  out  of 
sight  under  the  pillow,  but  that  did  no  good.  Her 
sole  comfort  was  that  while  they  were  still  unopened 
she  did  not  know  the  worst ;  but  in  the  meantime 
she  was  consumed  with  a  terrible  curiosity.  She 
studied  them  hard,  and  then  walked  away  to  the 
furthest  corner. 

"  Oh,  what  is  it  in  them  ?  Indeed,  I  couldn't  bear 
anything  after  to-day,  indeed  I  couldn't ! "  she 
whimpered.  "  I  can't  open  them !"  and  then  she 
pounced  upon  one  of  tnem  in  a  frenzy  and  tore  ife 
open. 


X. 

THE  character  of  no  man  is  fixed  till  it  has  been 
/tried  by  that  of  the  woman  he  loves.  Till  then  he 
has  only  the  materials  of  character,  and  they  are  all 
to  be  shaped  and  ordered  as  newly  as  if  he  had 
never  had  them  before.  The  thousand  and  one 
mysteries  of  Helen's  girlish  uncertainty,  her  fantastic 
waverings,  her  aesthetic  coquetries  with  the  idea  of 
being  in  love,  were  as  unintelligible  to  Fenton  as 

<  his   headlong   and   outspoken  passion  was   to   her. 
But  while  she  thought  his  bluntness  charming,  in  a 
way,    and    constantly   trembled    nearer   and   nearer 
to  him  in  her  heart,  Fenton  was  far  too  simple  a 
fellow  to  feel  anything  but  trouble  at  the  misgivings 
and  delays  which   she   enjoyed.     When   at  last  he 
made  what  he  felt  must  be  his  last  offer,  and  she 
met  it  with  all   those    freshly  alarmed    ideals    and 
metaphysical  scruples,  which  a  wiser  and  worse  man 
would  have  trampled  under  foot, —tearing  her  from 

<  herself,  as  she  unconsciously  meant,  and  making  her 
his   in  her  own  despite,  as  she  reluctantly  wished, 
Fenton  lost  his  head  in  a   delirium    of  angry  and 
wounded  pride. 

When  he  awoke  from  it,  irretrievably  committed 

196 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  197 

to  three  years'  exile,  it  was  in  a  self- abhorrence  and 
despair,  and  a  sort  of  stupefaction  that  he  should 
have  done  what  he  had  done.  His  repentance  came 
before  he  had  forgiven  Helen,  and  long  before  he  had 
begun  to  conceive  that  the  letter  might  have  another 
meaning  than  that  which  he  had  first  taken  from  it. 
Of  his  own  light,  perhaps,  he  never  saw  more  in  it 
than  it  seemed  to  say.  It  was  without  reading  it 
again,  without  having  the  heart  to  look  at  it,  that 
he  hated  himself  for  what  he  had  done,  and  loathed 
himself*  for  his  futile  desire  to  make  reparation.  It 
was  impossible  to  repair  his  fault,  and  if  it  were 
possible,  it  would  be  despicable  to  attempt  it. 

He  went  haggardly  about  his  duty,  a  machine  that 
did  its  work,  but  with  no  more  mind  upon  it  than  a 
machine.  There  came  long  spaces  of  time  in  which 
he  afterwards  recognised  that  he  had  not  known 
what  he  was  doing ;  that  he  had  been  altogether 
absent  without  having  been  anywhere  else ;  he  awoke 
from  these  absences  as  from  a  profound,  dreamless' 
torpor,  and  with  a  start  of  fear  and  amaze,  to  find 
that  all  had  been  going  well  in  the  meantime,  that 
he  had  been  talking,  eating,  and  drinking,  and 
shrewdly  attentive  to  whatever  immediately  con 
cerned  him.  It  would  have  been  hard  for  him  to 
say  whether  the  time  when  he  was  on  duty,  and  no 
one  spoke  to  him,  or  the  leisure  in  which  he  was 
intimately  thrown  with  his  brother  officers  was  the 
more  terrible  :  his  solitude  was  dense  with  piercing 
regrets,  that  stung  for  ever  in  the  same  place ;  his 
association  with  others  was  tormented  by  an  un 


198  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

forgettable  remorse,  which,  if  it  seemed  to  grant  him 
a  moment's  oblivion,  awoke  him  presently,  from 
somebody's  joke  or  story,  to  the  consciousness  that 
it  had  only  been  more  deeply  and  inwardly  gnawing 
his  soul. 

Some  sort  of  action  was  indispensable,  but  action 
which  did  not  relate  to  Helen,  was  none.  He  began 
to  write  letters  to  her.  He  had  no  idea  of  sending 
them,  but  it  had  grown  insufferable  to  be  perpetually 
talking  to  her  as  he  was  in  those  airy  dramas  within 
himself;  and  since  his  words  could  not  be  made 
audible,  he  must  let  them  take  visible  shape.  This 
became  his  daily  habit ;  and  before  the  ship  reached 
Eio  de  Janeiro  he  had  accumulated  a  score  of  letters, 
which  he  bitterly  amused  himself  by  reading  over, 
and  considering,  and  putting  by  without  destroying. 
He  kept  them,  and  found  a  sort  of  miserable  relief 
in  communing  with  them  instead  of  his  intangible 
thoughts.  His  industry  did  not  escape  the  idle 
vigilance  of  the  ship's  comradery ;  but  at  sea  every 
one  must  be  suffered  his  whim,  and  after  laughing 
at  Fenton's,  they  left  him  to  it,  in  the  feigned  belief 
that  it  was  a  book  he  was  writing :  a  marine  novel, 
they  decided.  Each  thought  it  in  the  way  of 
his  rightful  joke  to  say,  "Don't  put  me  into  it, 
Fenton,"  till  Fenton,  who  worked  up  slowly  to  his 
repartees,  found  presence  of  mind  at  last  to  answer, 
"  No  ;  I  can't  afford  to  make  it  dull,  you  know,"  and 
then  they  left  him  quite  alone,  with  a  roar  at  the 
expense  of  the  chance  victim.  Before  the  laugh  was 
over,  Fenton  had  almost  ceased  to  know  what  it  was 


A  WOMAN'S   REASON.  199 

about,  and  had  wholly  ceased  to  care.  He  was  quite 
too  miserable  to  be  glad  of  the  immunity  he  had 
won. 

He  went  on  with  his  letter-writing ;  but  on  the 
eve  of  arrival  at  Bio  de  Janeiro  he  destroyed  all  his 
work,  and  set  about  writing  one  letter,  which  should 
be  his  last.  It  was  his  purpose  to  post  this  without 
reference  to  consequences,  as  an  act  of  final  expia 
tion.  He  was  not  without  some  trembling  illusion 
that  there  might  be  a  letter  awaiting  him  :  he  did  riot 
dare  to  think  from  Helen,  and  he  could  not  think 
from  whom  else.  But  his  letter  was  to  go  before  he 
knew  what  was  in  that,  or  even  whether  it  existed. 
He  had  no  reason  to  suppose  it  did  exist ;  it  was  in 
fact  as  purely  a  figment  of  his  distempered  fancy  as ; 
a  starving  man's  visions  of  feasting  ;  and  when  he 
had  faithfully  posted  his  letter  before  going  to  the 
consul  to  ask  if  there  were  anything  for  him,  he 
could  not  make  out  that  it  was  disappointment  that 
sickened  him  to  find  there  was  nothing.  But  a  mail 
was  expected  the  following  day,  and  he  kept  his 
wrecked  hopes  adrift  upon  its  possibilities  during  the 
night. 

The  mail  brought  him  no  letter,  but  it  brought 
the  consul  a  copy  of  The  Boston  Advertiser,  which  he 
politely  offered  to  Lieutenant  Fenton  unopened,  not 
having  the  leisure  just  then  for  the  newspaper. 
Fenton  unfolded  it  with  indifference,  and  mechani 
cally  glanced  at  the  marriages.  The  paper  was  of  a 
date  four  or  five  days  after  he  had  sailed,  and  the 
name  of  Helen  Harkness  did  not  appear  in  the  mar- 


200  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

riage  list.  He  had  not  expected  that  it  would, 
nevertheless  he  had  looked  at  the  marriages  on  her 
account;  and  he  was  about  laying  the  paper  aside 
when  the  record  of  a  single  death  caught  his  eye.  It 
was  the  death  of  Helen's  father,  with  a  dozen  lines 
of  mortuary  praise.  He  dropped  the  paper. 

"Nothing  in  the  Advertiser?"  asked  the  consul, 
who  was  busy  about  some  letters,  without  looking 
up. 

"Too  much  !"  said  Feriton,  pulling  his  cap  over 
his  eyes. 

The  consul  thought  this  was  a  joke,  and  laughed 
in  a  companionable,  uninterested  way.  Fenton 
looked  at  him  and  saw  his  innocence,  and  then  he 
sat  a  long  time  in  silence,  with  his  arms  folded,  and 
his  head  down.  At  last  he  asked  the  consul  if  he 
could  give  him  a  sheet  of  paper  and  an  envelope,  and 
briefly  wrote  the  second  of  the  two  letters  which  had 
reached  Helen  together.  In  her  desperation,  she 
had  found  no  resource  but  to  open  them  according 
to  the  order  of  the  dates  in  their  postmarks,  and  she 
had  seized  first  upon  that  of  the  9th.  It  began 
simply,  Helen,  and  it  ran  in  this  way  : — 

"  I  hope  you  will  have  patience  to  read  this  letter 
through,  though  I  have  forfeited  all  right  to  a  hear 
ing  from  you.  I  am  not  going  to  make  an  appeal 
for  your  forgiveness,  because  I  know  I  ought  not  to 
have  it.  I  have  suffered,  not  all  that  I  ought  to 
suffer,  but  all  that  human  nature  can  suffer  for  that 
letter  I  sent  you  from  Portsmouth.  But  I  shall  not 
try  to  work  upon  your  pity ;  I  believe  that  I  have 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  201 

that  already.  I  only,  wish  you  to  understand  that  in 
again  renouncing  all  pretensions  to  your  regard,  I  do 
it  with  a  full  approval  of  your  conduct  to  me.  I  do 
not  blame  you  in  the  least  thing.  I  see  that  I  was 
altogether  to  blame.  I  see  what  I  did  not  see  before  : 
that  you  never  cared  for  me,  and  that  you  tried 
with  all  your  heart,  to  be  kind  to  me,  and  yet  not  to 
give  me  hope.  I  thank  you  for  your  goodness,  and 
I  beg  you  to  believe,  when  you  have  read  this  letter, 
that  my  eyes  are  open  at  last,  and  that  if  I  keep  on 
loving  you,  it  is  because  my  love  of  you  has  become 
my  life,  and  that  I  know  I  am  no  more  worthy  to 
love  you  than  I  am  to  live.  I  cannot  help  one  or  the 
other,  but  I  can  keep  either  from  being  troublesome 
to  you,  and  I  will.  So  I  do  not  ask  you  to  admit 
any  of  my  former  pretensions,  but  only  to  let  me  be 
your  friend,  in  whatever  humble  and  useful  way  I 
can.  I  consider  myself  a  disgraced  man,  and  I  shall 
expect  nothing  of  you  but  the  kind  of  forbearance 
and  patience  you  would  show  some  repentant  criminal 
who  was  depending  upon  your  countenance  for 
strength  to  reform  himself. 

"I  know  you  have  told  Mr.  Harkness  of  my 
Portsmouth  letter,  and  that  he  must  be  very  much 
incensed  with  me.  But  though  I  do  not  ask  your 
forgiveness,  Helen,  I  do  beseech  you  to  try  to  get 
me  his.  I  owe  him  all  the  little  good  there  is  in  me, 
and  I  owe  him  all  that  I  am  and  have  done  in  this 
world.  I  could  not  tell  you  how  dearly  and  truly  I 
honour  and  love  him.  The  thought  that  I  came 
away  without  trying  to  take  leave  of  him  chokes 


202  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

me;  but  after  writing  you  that  fatal  letter,  every 
thing  that  was  right  and  decent  became  impossible. 
"  Good-bye,  Helen. 

"  ROBERT  FENTON." 

When  Helen  had  finished  this  letter,  which,  in 
deed,  she  seemed  instantly  to  divine  rather  than  to 
read,  she  not  only  kissed  it  but  pressed  it  to  her 
breast  and  locked  her  arms  upon  it,  clasping  it  close, 
as  if  it  were  some  living  thing  and  could  feel  the 
wild,  happy  tumult  of  her  heart.  She  wept  long 
and  sweetly  over  it.  It  might  not  have  been  the 
perfection  of  reason  to  another,  but  to  her  all  the 
parts  were  linked  together  by  an  impenetrable  and 
infrangible  logic.  Nay,  it  was  not  that,  it  was  not 
eloquence ;  it  was  the  sum  of  everything,  it  was 
love,  and  however  hapless  love  to  the  writer,  it  was 
heaven-prospered  passion  to  Helen,  who  seemed  in 
that  fond  embrace  to  implore,  to  forgive,  to  console 
Robert,  as  if  he  were  there  present  and  she  had 
fallen  upon  his  neck.  They  were  happy,  and  they 
were  happy  together ;  it  was  so  much  to  know  that 
she  need  never  wish  to  know  more. 

For  some  time,  in  the  rush  of  her  emotion,  she  did 
not  realise  that  it  was  not  an  answer  to  her  own 
letter.  But  it  was  infinitely  more.  It  forestalled 
and  anticipated  her  letter,  as  that,  when  it  came 
to  his  hand,  would  in  its  turn  be  both  appeal  and 
response  to  him.  Best  of  all,  his  letter  made  the 
first  advance  towards  reconciliation,  and  assumed  for 
Robert  the  blame  for  what  she  had  suffered.  She 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  203 

knew  that  he  was  not  wholly  to  blame,  but  as  a 
woman  she  liked  to  have  him  say  that  he  was,  and 
she  liked  him  to  be  generously  first  in  owning  him 
self  wrong — that  always  seems  a  man's  part. 

She  had  almost  forgotten  the  letter  of  later  date, 
the  letter  of  the  10th,  which  still  lay  unopened 
before  her.  That,  toor  would  be  precious,  but  never 
so  dear  as  this  of  the  9th,  which  should  always  be 
first  in  the  history  of  their  love ;  the  other,  no  matter 
how  sweet  it  proved,  must  always  remain  second.  It 
was,  in  fact,  not  a  fortunate  inspiration.  In  his  grief 
at  the  news  which  he  had  just  read,  Fenton's  mind 
had  reverted  to  the  old  relation  in  which  he  had 
first  known  Helen,  and  in  the  presence  of  the 
bereavement  that  they  had  both  suffered  in  the  loss 
of  one  who  had  been  no  less  a  father  to  him  than  to 
her,  he  addressed  her  as  a  sister,  and  signed  himself 
as  her  brother  Eobert.  These  words,  coming  upori^ 
the  different  tenderness  his  other  letter  had  evoked, 
seemed  to  push  her  coldly  from  him,  to  disown  their 
love  and  to  ignore  it,  to  take  her  at  a  certain  disad 
vantage  with  respect  to  the  sorrow  in  which  they 
humbly  asked  a  brother's  share ;  they  made  her 
jealous  in  a  wild  sort  of  her  sorrow,  they  inde 
scribably  wounded  her  so  that  she  threw  the  letter 
from  her  and  wept  bitter  tears  for  the  happy  ones 
she  had  shed.  It  was  such  a  letter  as  no  woman 
would  have  written  if  she  had  been  a  man  !  She 
should  not  know  which  letter  to  answer  now,  nor 
how  to  answ.er  either ;  for  if  she  answered  the  first 
as  she  would  have  done,  might  not  Robert  think  her 


204  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

bold  and  unfilial  1  and  if  she  answered  the  second  as 
she  ought,  would  she  not  appear  reserved  and  cold 
with  him  upon  whom  her  heart  had  just  thrown  itself 
with  such  tender  abandon  1  The  letters  made  two 

\;\Roberts  of  him,  and  left  her  to  despair  between  them. 
She  passed  a  hapless  night,  and  in  the  morning 
she  took  the  first  train  after  breakfast  for  Beverley, 
where  she  appeared  at  the  Butlers'  before  ten  o'clock, 
asking  in  such  a  high  hysteric  key  for  Mrs.  Butler, 
who  was  not  yet  down,  that  they  led  her  at  once  to 
her  room.  There  she  threw  up  her  veil,  revealing 
eyes  tragic  with  tears  and  want  of  sleep,  and  gave 
the  two  letters  into  Mrs.  Butler's  hand  while  she  hid 
her  face  in  Mrs.  Butler's  pillow. 

"  0  Helen,  Helen  ! "  said  the  elder  lady,  when 
she  had  spelled  through  these  documents  in  the  dim 
light,  "  how  glad  I  am  for  you  !  Come,  look  at  me, 
my  dear,  and  let  me  see  your  happy  face  !  This 
makes  up  your  quarrel,  and  you  are —  Why, 
Helen!"  she  cried,  when  the  girl  obeying,  bent 
those  eyes  of  tragedy  upon  her,  "  what  is  the  matter] 
Don't  you — didn't  you — 

"0  yes,  I  care  for  him — all  the  world!"  Helen 
broke  out.  "  But  the  more  I  care  for  him  the  worse 
it  is,  and  unless  you  can  help  me  out  of  this  trouble, 
Mrs.  Butler,  I  shall  surely  go  crazy.  Oh,  how  in 
delicate  it  is  of  me  to  come  to  you  !  But  I  don't 
know  what  to  do — I  don't  know  what  to  do ;  I  'm 
so  horribly  alone  !  And  it 's  such  a  very  strange, 
ridiculous  thing  !"  She  did  not  suffer  herself  to 

/   pause,  while  Mrs.  Butler  stared  compassionately  at 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  205 

her,  till  she  had  put  her  in  full  possession  of  her 
perplexity,  and  explained  how  it  had  poisoned  all 
her  joy. 

Mrs.  Butler  did  not  laugh  at  her ;  she  was  one  of 
those  high  spirits  who  perceive  the  sacred  rather 
than  the  absurd,  and  amidst  the  girl's  wild  talk,  she 
saw  the  reasonableness  of  pain  that  to  a  coarser 
sense  would  only  have  been  ludicrous.  "  You  must 
not  think  of  this  second  letter  at  all,  Helen,"  she  said 
seriously.  "  Shall  I  tear  it  up  1 " 

"  Oh,  oh!"  said  Helen,  half-reaching  for  it,  and 
yet  holding  her  hand.  "  It 's  about  papa,  and — it 's 
from  him  /"  She  caught  her  breath,  and  trembled  for 
Mrs.  Butler's  decision. 

"  I  didn't  think  of  destroying  it,"  said  the  other, 
"  but  I  'm  not  going  to  let  you  have  it  back.  This  is 
the  only  letter  you've  got,  Helen,  for  the  present," 
she  added,  handing  the  girl  the  first,  arid  putting  the 
second  under  her  pillow.  "  The  letter  that  you  sent 
him  the  other  day — wouldn't  that  be  a  kind  of 
answer  to  this  1" 

"Why,  yes  !"  cried  Helen  with  electrical  perception. 

"  Well,  then,  answer  the  first.  I  want  you  to  let  me 
keep  this  till — till  I  can  give  it  back  to  Mrs.  Fenton." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Helen. 

"And  kiss  me,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Butler  fondly  ; 
"  and  bathe  your  eyes  yonder.  And  if  you  touch  the 
left  hand-bell,  Marian  will  come  up." 

"Oh!"  said  Helen  in  the  same  shaken  tone  as 
before.  "  Shall  you — shall  you  tell  her  ?" 

"  No ;  you  shall,"  replied  Mrs.  Butler.     But  when 


206  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Marian  came,  it  was  Mrs.  Butler  who  had  to  explain 
the  embrace  in  which  Helen  seized  her,  and  which, 
first  returning  with  mechanical  affection,  she  now 
returned  with  rapturous  intelligence. 

"Engaged]"  she  exulted.  "Oh,  Helen,  Helen, 
Helen  !" 

"  Why,"  cried  Helen,  laughing  from  her  happy 
heart,  and  pulling  away  from  her  friend,  "  I  don't 
know  what  you  call  it.  I  've  written  him  a  making- 
up  letter,  and  he 's  written  me  one,  and  they  've 
crossed  on  the  way." 

"  Oh,  that 's  an  engagement,"  said  Marian,  with 
the  authority  of  a  connoisseur. 

"But  he  hasn't  got  my  letter  yet,  and  I'm  not 
engaged  till  he  has." 

"  That 's  nothing.  He 's  engaged,  because  you  Ve 
got  his,  and  in  an  engagement  the  man  counts  for 
everything ;  the  girl  goes  without  saying."  Marian 
Butler  was  at  that  period  full  of  those  airs  of  self- 
abnegation  with  which  women  adorn  themselves  in 
the  last  days  of  betrothal,  and  the  first  of  marriage, 
and  never  afterwards. 

They  talked  Helen's  whole  affair  over,,  in  the 
light  of  the  full  candour  which  she  was  able  to  bring 
to  bear  upon  it  now  for  the  first  time.  As  to  feelings 
she  must  still  have  her  reserves ;  but  as  to  facts,  she 
made  them  little  by  little  all  theirs  ;  it  helped  her  to 
realise  Robert  to  be  talking  of  him  by  his  name,  and 
to  hear  others  doing  so.  At  the  sound  of  approach 
ing  footsteps  without,  Marian  said — 

"Now  mother,  those  children  are  not  to  know 


A  WOMAN'S   REASON.  207 

about  this.    They  're  too  forthputting  now,  especially 
Jessie." 

Ignorant  of  this  supreme  interest,  the  younger 
sisters  were  richly  content  with  Helen's  further 
account  of  her  boarding-house  life,  which  she  con 
tinued  to  them  like  an  instalment  of  some  intoxica 
ting  romance.  When  she  came  to  the  end  of  her  x 
chapter,  she  stopped  with  a  manner  that  roused  their 
worst  suspicions. 

"  Oh,  she 's  keeping  something  back  ! "  complained 
Jessie,  and  "Oh,  oh  !"  went  up  from  the  others. 

"Yes  !"  cried  Helen,  "I'm  keeping  back  the  best 
of  all,  because  it  doesn't  seem  as  if  I  could  tell  it." 

While  they  all  stared,    she   abruptly   began   the 
confession  of  her  experiment  iu  decorative  keramics. 
She  was  by  this  time  in  high  spirits,  and  she  poured* 
it  all  out,  illustrating,  mimicking,  not  sparing  her-^ 
self  in  the  minutest  particular  of  conceited  expecta- 1  ^ 
tion  or  forlorn  reality.     It  was  all  past  now,  far  past, 
and  was  part  of  a  former  existence  which  she  had 
suddenly   outlived   by  an   untraversable    period    of 
time.     It  made  them  laugh,  Marian  with  amusement, 
and  Mrs.  Butler  with  a  sort  of  grieving  compassion ;  x 
as  for  the  young  girls,  it  seemed  to  them  the  wildest 
and  most  enviable  adventure  that  ever  was  known 
out  of  a  book. 

"  And  you  didn't  meet  a  soul — not  a  soul  you 
knew  1 "  asked  Mrs.  Butler. 

"O  no;  no  one  shops  in  Boston  now,  you  know; 
and  I  was  perfectly  safe.  But  I  shouldn't  have 
cared." 


208  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  I  should  have  been  glad  of  it !"  cried  Jessie 
Butler.  "  I  should  have  liked  to  lug  my  basket  up 
and  poke  it  into  their  carriage-doors,  and  offer  to 
sell  them  the  things,  and  see  how  they  would  look!" 

"  Jessie  ! "  said  her  mother. 

"  Well,  never  mind.     Go  on,  go  on,  Helen  !" 

"That's  all,"  said  Helen,  who  had  brought  them 
back  to  the  period  of  her  return  to  her  room  and  her 
long  desperate  slumber.  "  No,  the  worst  is  to  come! 
Miss  Root  came  in  while  I  was  asleep,  and  discovered 
them ;  and  what  do  you  think  I  told  her  1  I  told  her 
I  had  been  doing  them  for  a  wedding  present ! " 

There  was  fresh  sensation  at  this,  but  Jessie  ex 
claimed,  "  Marian  Butler  shall  never  have  those 
vases  in  the  world.  They  shall  be  sold  !  The  idea  ! 
7  will  go  up  and  sell  them  ! " 

"  No,"  said  Helen  soberly ;  "  she  must  take  them, 
Jessie,  to  save  me  from  fibbing,  if  nothing  else. 
Besides,  you  suggested  painting  pottery,  Marian,  and 
they're  Beverley  ware — all  very  appropriate,  you 
see.  And  some  of  them  are  not  so  bad.  And  I 
can't  give  you  anything  better  till — my  ship  comes 
homer 

At  this  idea  of  a  ship,  and  of  its  coming  home, 
Helen  and  Marian  simultaneously  pressed  each  other's 
hands,  where  they  sat  side  by  side  on  the  lounge, 
with  delicious  intelligence.  Marian  said  that  she 
should  prize  Helen's  present  more  than  anything  else 
that  could  be  given  her,  and  that  its  history,  which 
could  not  be  known  out  the  family,  would  make  it  all 
the  more  precious ;  the  legend  would  be  something 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  209 

to  tell  the  future  age.  It  would  be  great  to  say, 
"  Only  think  of  your  great-grandmother  going  about 
the  whole  day  with  these  beautiful  things,  and  not 
being  able  to  sell  them  for  a  crust  of  bread  to  keep 
her  from  starving." 

"  Marian^'  said  her  mother,  "  I  can't  let  you  make  a 
joke  of  it(^  I  can't  help  thinking  how  wretched  it  would 
have  been  if  poor  Helen  had  really  been  in  need."^_\ 

'•Indeed  I  was  in  need,  Mrs.  Butler,"  said  Helen, 
"  while  I  was  doing  those  things.  I  felt  just  as 
destitute  !  And  I  worked  at  them,  early  and  late,  as 
life  depended  upon  it." 

h,  that's  a  very  different  thing,  my  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Butler.  "It  was  only  play  poverty T  after  all. 
Think  if  you  had  really  been  some  poor  ^\r\}  wit.lj 
nothing,  and  had  metjvvith  such  a  disappointment ! "  JJ 

"  I  don't  believe  1  could  have  suffered  more,"  said 
Helen,  confidently. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  Ve  no  means  of  knowing  certainly. 
But  now  that  you  Ve  tried  your  experiment,  Helen, 
hadn't  you  better  end  this  little  escapade,  and  come 
back  to  us  1  Things  have  come  about  very  fortu 
nately,"  she  added  quickly,  at  a  look  of  refusal  in 
Helen's  eye,  "  and  your  failure  to  earn  a  living  makes 
it  easier  for  me  to  tell  you  something  that's  been 
rather  weighing  upon  my  mind." 

She  spoke  writh  a  double  sense  to  Helen,  who 
understood  that  it  was  not  her  failure,  but  the  letter 
from  Robert  which  made  it  easy  for  Mrs.  Butler  to  say 
what  followed. 

"We  have  concluded  not  to  wait  a  month  after 
o 


210  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Marian  is  married,  before  we  sail,  but  to  go  the  next 
week.  We  shall  not  try  to  run  them  down —  Girls," 
she  broke  off,  and  speaking  with  the  tone  of  authority 
which  they  knew  when  they  heard  it,  "  go  and  see 
where  your  father  is,"  and  when  they  were  gone,  she 
resumed, — "but  we  shall  follow  them  up  pretty 
closely,  and  we  shall  meet  them  in  Venice  just  before 
they  start  from  Trieste  for  Egypt.  Now,  Marian  !" 

"And  there,"  said  Marian,  "Miss  Harkness,  who 
has  come  to  that  point  with  the  bride's  family,  will 
join  the  happy  couple,  and  make  one  of  their  party 
up  the  Nile.  It 's  to  be  a  trusteeship,  Helen," 
she  cried,  "it  can't  be  resigned;  you  must  come. 
We  are  going  to  take  a  dahabeiah  at  Cairo,  with  some 
Philadelphia  friends  of  Ned's,  very  quiet  people  whom 
he  took  a  great  fancy  to ;  and  I^want  you  alonff  to 

_the_cprrect,  and  elegant,  and  superior_Jhing  for 
Boston,  and  leave  me  to  uninterrupted  enjoyment  of 
the  sillies.  Yes,  Helen,  you  must  come.  Ned  wishes 
it  as  much  as  I,  and  I  can't  tell  you  how  much  that 
is.  "We  want  to  take  you  away  from  yourself,  and 
we  promise  to  bring  you  back  in  a  year — "  She 
hesitated  :  "  I  was  pausing  for  want  of  an  idea,  but 
say — improved  in  every  way." 

"  Oh,  I  can't !"  lamented  Helen.  She  leaned  back 
upon  the  lounge,  and  brooded  upon  the  matter  in  a 
silence  to  which  the  others  left  her  unmolested.  "  It 
isn't  because  it  doesn't  seem  the  loveliest  and  kindest 
thing  in  the  world,  Marian,  and  I  Ve  no  peasant- 
pride  that  would  prevent  me  from  accepting  it ;  and 
it  isn't  because  I  think  I  should  do  better  to  go  on 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  211 

trying  to  take  care  of  myself,  Mrs.  Butler.  I  know 
that  I  'm  a  distinct  failure  in  that  way,  and  I  haven't 
any  heart  or  conceit  for  further  experiments.  But — 
I  must  stay !  He  will  come  back — I  know  he  will 
come  back,  as  soon  as  he  gets  that  letter  of  mine — 
and  he  must  find  me  here  waiting  for  him.  It  would 
be  a  shocking  kind  of  treachery  if  I  were  away." 

"  You  could  write  to  him  now  that  you  were  going 
with  us,"  said  Marian,  a  good  deal  shaken  by  the 
heroism  of  Helen's  position,  "and  he  could  meet  you 
somewhere  abroad." 

Mrs.  Butler  said  nothing. 

"  The  second  letter  might  miss,"  replied  Helen,  as 
if  the  first  letter  could  not. 

"  You  could  keep  writing,"  urged  Marian,  "  before 
you  sailed,  and  then  from  Europe." 

"  No ;  it  wouldn't  do.  He  must  find  me  here 
waiting  for  him ;  and  I  mustn't  stir  from  the  spot 
till  he  gates  back.  I  don't  know  how  to  explain  it 
exactly.  (But  it  would  look  very^Cjueer  andJMit- 
minded,  wouldn't  it,  if  I  went  off  junketing  up  the 
Nile,  while  he  was  thinking  all  the  time  that  I  was 
forlornly  waiting  for  him  m  Boston,  and  was  as  un 
happy  as  he  till  we  met  ?  J  Besides,  I  feel  this  way 
about  it,  after  what  has  passed  between  us :  I  ought 
not  to  be  on  a  high  horse  of  any  sort  when  Robert 
comes  back.  I  feel  that  it  is  his  right  and  his  due 
to  be  able  to  stoop  to  me  a  little ;  and  it  would  only 
be  a  just  reparation  for  me  to  be  in  very  humble 
circumstances  when  I  met  him.  Doesn't  that  seem 
like  a  kind  of  reason  to  you,  Mrs.  Butler  ? " 


212  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"Yes,"  assented  Mrs.  Butler  doubtfully;  "a  little 
.  romantic  !" 

"  Do  you  think  so  1 "  asked  Helen,  rather  hurt ; 
"I  hoped  you  would  think  it  sensible." 

"  I  do,  my  dear,  I  do,"  Mrs.  Butler  hastened  to 
reply,  "  from  your  point  of  view." 

"There's  this,  too,"  Helen  added,  not  quite 
appeased,  after  a  hesitation.  "Robert  hasn't  any 
money,  but  his  pay ;  and  I  only  have  such  a  very  little, 
that  we  couldn't  begin  living  like  rich  people ;  and 
the  question  is  whether  I  had  better  keep  on  living 
as  I  used  to  do,  or  whether  I  hadn't  better  get 
accustomed  to  something  very  plain  and  simple  at 
once." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Butler,  while  Marian  fidgeted 
in  protest,  but  said  nothing. 

"  I  try  to  look  at  it  quite  dispassionately,  and  in 
the  light  of  common  sense,  without  any  foolishness, 
and  it  seems  to  me  that  I  shouldn't  be  doing  right 
unless  I  were  making  some  sacrifice  for  Robert,  and 
suffering,  don't  you  know,  in  some  way;  I  should 
not  be  happy  unless  I  were.  You  know,"  she  said 
softly,  "  that  I  don't  think  I  always  used  Robert  very 
well.  I  don't  mean  that  I  meant  to ;  but  I  didn't 
understand  myself  ;  and  now  that  I  do,  and  under 
stand  him,  I  should  be  detestable,  if  I  went  off  to  be 
pleased  and  diverted,  while  he  was  hurrying  home 
with  his  mind  burning  upon  the  thought  that  I  was 
waiting  here  in  perfect  wretchedness  till  he  came* 
Don't  you  see  1  I  must  be  here,  and  I  must  be 
wretched,  to  be  perfectly  true  to  him  !" 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  213 

"  You  are  right,  Helen  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Butler,  deeply 
moved  by  this  divine  logic  of  the  heart.  "Hush, 
Marian,  don't  speak !  You  know  she  is  right. 
Come  here,  Helen  !"  The  matron  embraced  the  girl 
in  the  fervour  of  that  youth  which  women  of  all  ages 
have  in  common.  "  We  won't  say  anything  more  of 
this  matter,  Marian,  and  we  will  just  tell  your  father 
that  Helen  can't  go.  You  won't  mind  my  letting  out 
a  little  of  your  secret  to  him  ? " 

"  0  no  !"  blushed  Helen.  "  I  had  expected  you  to 
tell  him." 

Captain  Butler  would  once  have  teased  the  girl 
about  her  happiness.  But  since  her  father's  death  he 
seemed  not  to  have  been  able  to  treat  her  lightly ; 
her  loss  and  her  uncertain  future  made  her  a  serious 
affair  to  him;  and  now  that  her  father  was  gone, 
Helen  was  startled  at  times  to  find  how  much  his  old 
friend  was  like  him.  There  were  tones  and  move 
ments  of  strange  resemblance ;  perhaps  the  impression 
came  partly  from  Captain  Butler's  impaired  health  ; 
he  was  certainly  not  well,  and  that  made  her  think 
of  her  father.  He  took  what  Mrs.  Butler  told  him 
very  much  as  her  father  would  have  done,  she  thought, 
and  he  expressed  his  satisfaction  almost  as  quietly. 
His  only  revenge  was  to  ask  : — 

"  Shall  you  answer  in  care  of  the  Navy  Department, 
or  would  you  like  to  telegraph  a  reply  ? " 

"  Oh,  Captain  Butler,"  cried  Helen,  "  could  I  tele 
graph?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Captain.  "How  would  you  word 
your  despatch  1 " 


214  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"Mr.  Butler  !"  said  his  wife  in  reproach. 

"I — I  don't  know  !"  gasped  Helen. 

"  It  wouldn't  reach  him,  now,  any  sooner  than 
your  letter  of  three  weeks  ago.  He  '11  find  that  at 
Hong  Kong  when  he  gets  there,  and  you  wouldn't 
know  where  to  hit  him  with  a  telegram  on  the  way. 
If  your  letter  was  posted  at  Rio,  the  Muskingum — " 

"  Messasauga,"  Helen  softly  corrected  him. 

"  Was  it  Messasauga  ? — is  going  round  the  Cape 
of  Good  Hope,  and  she  must  have  passed  that  point 
a  week  ago,  and  she  won't  stop  at  any  other  tele 
graphic  port,  probably.  Here,"  said  the  Captain, 
with  rising  interest,  "I  '11  show  you  his  course." 

He  got  a  chart  out  of  the  library,  and  Helen  began 
to  study  navigation  with  the  impassioned  devo 
tion  which  love  lends  to  intellectual  pursuits.  One 
observes  this  ardour  in  two  young  persons  of  opposite 
sexes  who  take  up  some  branch  of  literature  or  science 
together,  which  they  might  not  perhaps  have  thought 
of,  if  they  had  not  thought  of  each  other.  It  has  been 
known  to  cast  a  purple  light  upon  metaphysics. 
Helen  borrowed  the  chart  and  brought  it  away  with 
her. 

It  was  a  happy  day,  and  its  memory  remained  to 
sweeten  the  days  in  the  increasing  bustle  of  pre 
paration  for  Marian's  wedding,  when  Helen  saw 
her  friends  less  and  less,  and  then  the  days  when 
she  saw  them  no  more. 


XL 

HELEN'S  letter,  crossing  the  letter  Fenton  wrote 
at  Eio  de  Janeiro,  reached  him  at  Hong-Kong.  It 
added,  after  the  first  hours  of  rapture,  the  anguish  of 
a  hopeless  longing  to  the  remorse  he  had  been  suffer 
ing.  It  was  no  longer  a  question  of  her  forgiveness ; 
but  he  did  not  find  it  easier,  now  that  he  had  the 
assurance  of  her  love,  to  forgive  himself  for  his  rash 
ness  ;  he  thought  of  her  alone  in  her  sorrow,  without 
the  instant  sympathy  and  support  which  she  had  a 
right  to  expect  from  him,  even  if  there  had  been  no 
tie  but  their  common  affection  for  her  father  between 
them ;  and  his  whole  life  centred  in  an  impulse  to ; 
return  to  her  somehow  from  the  banishment  he  had 
inflicted  upon  himself.  But  he  had  himself  made 
return  impossible — for  the  present  at  least — by  the 
terms  on  which  he  had  sought  exile ;  he  must  wait 
and  he  must  suffer— that  would  have  been  simple 
enough — and  he  must  also  make  her  wait  and  suffer. 
When  he  came  to  this  conclusion,  as  he  always  must, 
it  was  with  a  mental  shock  that  was  like  a  veritable 
concussion  of  the  brain,  that  left  him  weaker  day  by 
day,  and  that  broke  him  at  last.  He  fell  sick  of  a 
disorder  that  baffled  the  science  of  the  surgeon  when 
he  visited  him  in  his  room. 


216  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  What  the  devil  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  I 
believe  in  my  soul  you  're  trying  to  make  a  die  of  it," 
said  the  doctor,  a  cheerful,  elderly  man,  tight  in  his 
uniform. 

"  No  man  ever  wanted  to  live  as  I  do,"  answered 
Fenton. 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  brace  up.  I  '11  give  you  a 
tonic.  Make  you  up  a  bottle  and  send  it  to  you." 
The  doctor  felt  his  pulse  again  and  said,  "You're 
either  down  with  the  climate,  and  that  affects  your 
spirits,  or  else  it.'s  your  spirits  that  affect  your  health. 
But  in  any  case  you  must  brace  up."  As  Fenton  lay 
perfectly  still  with  his  face  turned  away,  Dr.  Simmons 
passed  his  hand  over  the  top  of  his  head  where  a  per 
spiration  of  perplexity  had  gathered  in  the  scattering 
down.  "  I  can't  minister  to  a  mind  diseased,  you 
know,"  he  suggested. 

"  No,"  said  Fenton. 

"  You  must  go  to  some  other  shop." 

He  got  himself  with  difficulty  out  of  Fenton's  door 
into  the  ward-room,  and  presently  sent  him  the 
bottle.  It  seemed  to  make  him  worse,  and  the 
doctor  visited  him  again  in  renewed  mystification. 
After  the  usual  inspection,  he  sat  looking  at  Fenton 
as  before,  and  then  said  casually,  "  What  a  lucky 
chap  JNixon  is,  going  home  on  leave  so  soon  ! " 

Fenton  sat  up.  "  Going  home  f  O  my  God  !"  He 
fell  back  on  his  pillow,  and  the  doctor  nodded  his 
head. 

"I  thought  so.  You're  homesick.  Nixon  isn't 
going  home  ;  but  if  you  keep  on  in  this  way,  you  are 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  217 

— in  a  box.  This  thing  will  kill  you  as  sure  as  you 
live,  if  you  don't  fight  it,  and  if  you  Ve  got  particular 
reasons  for  living,  as  you  intimated  the  other  day, 
you  'd  better  make  the  most  of  them.  Get  leave  and 
go  off  somewhere  for  a  while.  Amuse  yourself ;  try 
to  forget  about  it.  You  can  worry  it  off  somehow. 
You  must ;  and  so  I  tell  ydu." 

"  Two  days  after  I  sailed  the  man  who  had  taken 
care  of  me  all  my  life,  and  been  more  than  a  father 
to  me,  died  suddenly,  and  left  his  only  child  alone  in 
the  world,"  said  Fenton  desperately.  "  How  am  I  to 
worry  that  off  1  I  ought  to  be  there — to  help  her,  to 
take  care  of  her,  to  show  the  gratitude  that  common 
decency — 

"Well,  that  is  bad,"  assented  the  doctor.  "But 
she  's  got  friends,  of  course  ?" 

"Oh,  friends,  yes  !" 

"  And  of  course  she  '11  be  looked  after.  You  must 
try  to  see  the  bright  side  of  it,"  added  the  doctor. 
"There  's  a  bright  side  to  everything." 

"  Do  you  think  so  1  Then  I  '11  tell  you  the  bright 
side  to  this.  I  came  away  in  a  quarrel  with  them — • 
a  quarrel  where  I  was  to  blame — without  seeing  them 
or  saying  a  word  to  them ;  and  I  can't  ask  leave  to 
go  home,  because  I  made  a  point  of  getting  ordered 
here.  That 's  the  bright  side  of  it !" 

"  It  isn't  very  dazzling,"  admitted  the  doctor,  with 
the  smile  that  men  put  on  at  other  men's  troubles 
of  sentiment.  "But  it  isn't  a  thing  to  be  morbid 
about.  You  can  write  home  and  explain.  You  're 
a  little  under  the  influence  of  the  climate  here ;  you- '11 


218  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

see  all  these  things  differently  when  you're  used 
to  it.  I  'd  better  give  you  some  quinine.  There 's 
no  use  in  giving  way  ;  you  '11  only  make  bad  worse." 

The  shame  of  having  confessed  to  an  anxiety  that 
another  seemed  to  find  so  slight  was  a  powerful 
auxiliary  in  the  effort  of  will  that  Fenton  made  to 
overcome  its  physical  effects.  He  succeeded  so  far 
that  he  was  able  to  go  on  duty  again,  after  a  week 
or  two,  and  to  live  doggedly  on  from  day  to  day  in 
that  double  consciousness  where  the  secret  trouble 
remains  a  dull,  incessant  ache  underneath  all  the  out 
ward  conditions.  It  began  to  be  a  superstition  with 
him  that  something  must  happen,  some  chance  of 
escape  must  offer ;  he  could  not  yet  bring  himself  to 
the  thought  of  the  last  resort,  though  the  knowledge 
that  at  the  end  of  all  he  could  resign  and  go  home 
continually  tempted  him. 

Helen's  letters,  as  they  came,  wBre  brave  and  hopeful, 
and  Fenton  only  wrote  of  the  time  when  they  should 
meet ;  he  instinctively  wrote  as  if  this  time  must  be 
near.  Then  the  mere  lapse  of  days  and  weeks  began 
to  have  its  effect  as  it  does  in  every  human  affliction  ; 
it  lessened  his  burden  by  making  it  a  thing  of  custom, 
to  which  his  life  adjusted  itself.  He  had  not  less  to 
bear,  but  he  had  learned  better  how  to  bear  it ;  and 
the  pride  and  joy  which  he  had  felt  in  Helen's  love, 
even  when  he  felt  himself  least  worthy  of  it,  seemed 
more  and  more  his  right,  and  less  and  less  his  unlaw 
ful  possession.  Apparently  she  was  pleasantly  placed 
in  the  house  which  she  amusingly  described  to  him, 
and  she  was  living  quietly  and  trustfully  on  there, 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  219 

waiting  for  his  return.  She  wrote  him  very  freely 
about  everything  else,  but  she  shrank  from  telling 
him  of  her  experiment  in  decorating  pottery  for 
sale,  because  she  would  not  let  him  know  that  she 
had  ever  thought  herself  in  need.  She  never  spoke 
of  any  need  in  her  life  except  his  return ;  she  only 
spoke  of  that  in  answer  to  his  letters  saying  that  he 
would  use  every  effort  to  get  back,  and  then  she  said 
that  they  must  both  have  patience,  and  that  she 
would  be  content  to  wait  all  her  days  for  him,  rather 
than  have  him  do  anything  that  he  would  not  have 
done  if  she  had  not  wished.  She  said  something 
that  made  Fenton  smile,  about  her  knowing  that  he 
would  not  dream  of  deserting  his  post  of  duty  ;  and 
then  she  begged  his  forgiveness  if  she  had  seemed  to 
express  any  fear  of  such  a  thing ;  and  again  she  said 
that  she  was  very  well  and  very  contented,  and  that 
he  must  not  worry  about  her,  and  she  only  wished 
that  he  could  look  into  her  little  room  at  Mrs. 
Hewitt's,  and  see  how  comfortable  she  was. 

To  the  next  letter,  which  reached  him  a  month 
later,  she  put  a  postscript  in  which  she  offered  to 
give  him  back  every  word  that  bound  him  to  such 
a  helpless  and  foolish  creature  as  she  was,  but  told 
him  that  it  would  kill  her  if  he  consented.  "  If  it 
were  not  for  thinking  of  you,  Robert,  I  should 
hardly  have  the  courage  to  keep  up.  If  you  were 
ever  to  be  unkind  to  me  again,  no  matter  if  it  were 
entirely  my  fault,  I  could  not  forgive  you,  but  I 
should  die  in  the  attempt.  There  are  some  things," 
she  added,  with  subtle  relevancy,  "about  my  everyday 


220  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

life,  and  its  cares  and  difficulties,  that  make  me  wish 
for  your  advice,  but  you  are  too  far  away  for  that ; 
and  if  you  were  here,  I  should  not  have  the  troubles, 
and  should  not  need  the  advice.  It  all  comes  from 
my  not  having  any  head  for  figures,  and  not  calcu 
lating  beforehand  instead  of  afterwards,  when  it 
does  no  good ;  and  then  I  have  to  pay  a  poor  girl's 
penalty  for  flinging  money  away  as  no  rich  girl 
ought." 

The  day  she  wrote,  Helen  had  met  in  the  street 
one  of  the  women  whom  she  had  put  down  on  her 
list  of  the  things  "To  be  given  away "  before  the 
auction,  for  certain  tables,  chairs,  and  bedsteads, 
which  Captain  Butler,  in  the  use  of  a  wise  discretion, 
had  ordered  to  be  sold  for  the  benefit  of  the  estate. 
Mrs.  Sullivan,  though  poor,  was  not  proud,  and  she  was 
one  of  those  who  had  formerly  profited  by  the  sums 
which  Helen  saved  from  hack-hire.  She  now  thanked 
her  for  a  small  present  of  old  clothes,  which,  being 
sent  her  before  Captain  Butler's  agency  in  Helen's 
charities  began,  had  really  reached  her.  Helen 
saw  the  expectation  of  future  old  clothes  in  the 
woman's  eye,  and  thought  it  right  to  cut  off  her  vain 
hope. 

"I'm  afraid  I  shall  not  have  any  more  clothes 
for  you  very  soon,"  she  said  coldly.  "I  must  wear 
my  old  things  myself  after  this."  Then,  with  some 
exasperation  at  being  invited  to  an  impossible  bene 
ficence,  where  she  had  already  done  so  much,  she 
added  :  "  I  hope  you  found  the  furniture  useful, 
Mrs.  Sullivan?" 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  221 

"What  foornitoor,  Miss?"  quavered  the  poor 
woman,  reduced  to  destitution  by  the  idea  of  the 
prosperity  that  had  evaded  her;  and  it  came  out 
that  she  had  never  received  the  things  intended  for 
her. 

Helen  did  not  pause  to  inquire  how  this  had 
happened.  "  There  has  been  some  misunderstanding, 
Mrs.  Sullivan,"  she  said  loftily;  "  but  I  don't  intend 
that  you  shall  be  the  sufferer  by  it."  She  gave  Mrs. 
Sullivan  everything  she  had  in  her  porte-monnaie 
except  some  horse-car  tickets.  "It  may  not  be  so 
much  as  the  furniture  was  worth,  but  it's  ready 
money,  and  no  doubt  you  can  buy  things  with  it  that 
you  would  rather  have." 

Mrs.  Sullivan  was  apparently  not  inclined  to  this 
opinion ;  the  loss  because  uncertain  seemed  greater ; 
but  she  did  not  fail  to  invoke  God's  favour  upon 
Helen,  and  she  asked  for  -her  washing,  as  an  amend 
for  the  unmerited  deprivation  whidhrv  the  Sullivan 
family  had  undergone  through  her.  LUplen  hurried 
home,  and  found  that  she  had  given  Mrs.  Sullivan 
all  her  money  but  ten  dollars,  and  that  pow  sjia 
must  _encroach  uponjber^c^aj^al^^jast.  She  must 
go  to  the  lawyer  in  whose  hands  Captain  Butler  had 
left  her  money,  and  ask  him  for  some  of  it.  She 
could  have  wept  for  vexation  at  her  rashness, 
shame  for  the  necessity  to  which  it  had  brought 
but  the  sum  of  her  varying  moods  was  the  mood  of 
self-pity  in  which  she  wrote  that  postscript  to  Robert. 
She  was  sorry  for  it  as  soon  as  she  had  posted  the 
letter,  but  even  then  she  merely  regretted  it  as  the 


222  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

expression  of  a  mood,  which  she  had  always  said  was 
foolish  in  writing  a  letter. 

Fenton  had  never  imagined  her  poor,  or  in  need 
of  any  kind  ;  the  fancy  of  a  lover  does  not  deal  with 
material  circumstances;  but  he  now  made  ample 
amends  for  past  failure.  He  took  unsparing  blame 
to  himself  for  the  false  delicacy  that  had  kept  him 
from  asking  in  what  state  her  father's  affairs  had 
been  left,  for  not  making  her  tell  him  how  much  or 
how  little  she  had.  At  this  first  vague  hint  of  cares 
and  difficulties, — of  the  necessity  of  saving, — which 
she  had  allowed  to  escape  her,  he  saw  her  in  a 
poverty  that  scarcely  stopped  short  of  the  municipal 
soup-kitchen.  With  the  distance  which  he  had  put 
between  them,  how  could  he  hope  to  help  her] 
How  could  he  even  intimate  his  longing  to  do  so, 
without  wounding  her  1  He  wore  himself  out  in  vain 
contrivance  for  getting  his  pay  to  her  in  some 
secret  and  anonymous  way. 

Her  next  letter  was  cheerful  and  happy,  with  no 
hint  of  trouble ;  but  he  could  see  nothing  in  it  but 
a  feint  of  gaiety,  a  pretence  to  keep  him  in  heart 
about  her;  and  the  effect  of  time  and  will  were 
undone  in  him. 

"  I  don't  understand  all  this  bother  of  yours, 
Fenton,"  said  the  doctor,  to  whom  he  applied  once 
more.  "  But  I  guess  you  've  got  to  go  home.  You  're 
dying  here." 

"Going  home  doesn't  follow,"  replied  Fenton. 

"You're  useless,  and  worse  than  useless,  as  you 
are,  here,"  continued  the  doctor.  "  I  know  how  you 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  223 

feel  about  it ;  you  feel  that  it 's  a  disgrace  to  give 
up ;  but  you  're  sick',  and  you  're  as  irresponsibly 
sick  as  if  you  had  the  consumption.  You  have  got 
to  look  at  it  in  that  light." 

"  I  can't  go,"  said  Fenton. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  retorted  the  doctor.  "  I  can't 
force  a  man  to  live." 

That  night,  as  Fenton  sat  in  the  wardroom  with 
two  or  three  others,  who  were  smoking  and  reading, 
while  he  pretended  to  read,  the  figure  of  Helen  sud 
denly  glided  out  of  the  empty  air,  and  paused  full 
form  before  him ;  it  melted  by  slow  degrees  away, 
her  face  vanishing  last,  and  leaving  him  with  a  sense 
of  her  strange  look  :  it  was  neither  sad  nor  reproach 
ful,  but  of  a  peculiarly  sweet  and  gentle  archness. 

He  turned  a  ghastly  countenance  on  the  doctor, 
whom  he  found  looking  at  him  across  the  table.  He 
trembled  to  his  feet,  and  the  doctor  ran  round  and 
helped  him  to  his  room.  "WelH"  he  impatiently 
demanded,  when  they  were  alone  in  his  room. 

"She's  dead!  I  saw  her  ghost!"  whispered 
Fenton.  The  perspiration,  which  stood  in  drops  on 
his  forehead,  bathed  the  clammy  hand  with  which 
he  clutched  the  doctor's  warm  hairy  fist. 

"  I  agree  to  the  ghost,"  the  doctor  answered  cheer 
fully,  "  but  I  guess  she  isn't  dead,  all  the  same." 

"  You  think  not  T'  queried  Fenton  with  a  childish 
submissiveness.  "  But — but  I  saw  her  !" 

"  Oh,  no  doubt,"  replied  Simmons.  "  If  you  keep 
on  at  this  rate,  you  '11  see  a  ball-room  full  of  her ! 
It 's  a  phenomenon  of  your  condition.  You  turn  in, 


224  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

now,  and  I  '11  make  you  up  a  bottle  that  will  keep 
her  away  till  to-morrow  night,  anyway." 

The  surgeon  had  the  professional  humanity,  and 
he  would  have  pitied  Fenton  as  the  doctor  pities  his 
patient,  even  if  he  had  felt  no  personal  kindness  for 
him.  But  he  really  had  a  liking  for  the  young  fellow; 
he  respected  him  as  the  most  striking  case  of 
nostalgia  that  had  ever  come  under  his  notice.  The 
case  was  all  the  more  interesting  from  the  character 
of  the  man,  which  was  one  of  stubborn  endurance  in 
everything;  his  pride  was  as  evident  as  his  quick 
temper ;  and  yet  here  he  was,  beaten  down,  perfectly 
broken  up,  by  a  purely  moral  disorder.  "  If  I  had 
not  got  that  man  away,"  Doctor  Simmons  could  say 
in  imaginable  boastings  that  were  to  hold  future 
wardrooms  in  awe,  "he  would  have  died,  sir;  died 
of  sheer  home-sickness  !" 

Of  any  other  sort  of  sickness  with  which  the 
nostalgia  was  complicated,  no  intimation  seemed  to 
have  penetrated  to  the  doctor's  thickened  conscious 
ness  ;  it  was  long  since  he  had  had  any  love  affairs  of 
his  own ;  the  passion,  as  he  had  observed  it  later  in 
life,  was  not  apt  to  manifest  itself  in  any  such  con 
dition  as  Fenton's  ;  he  ascertained  that  the  apparition 
was  that  of  the  lieutenant's  adoptive  sister,  and  he 
rested  in  that  knowledge.  But  the  fact  that  patients 
suffering  from  nostalgia  were  sometimes  haunted  by 
visions  of  absent  friends  was  an  incident  of  the 
malady  noted  in  the  books,  and  upon  its  occurrence 
every  possible  means  should  be  made  to  secure  their 
return  home. 


A  WOMAN'S   REASON.  225 

It  was  upon  this  authority  and  this  conviction 
that  Doctor  Simmons  approached  the  Admiral  in 
Fenton's  behalf.  He  explained  the  case  with  scien 
tific  zeal,  and  then  dwelt  upon  the  peculiar  circum 
stances  which  rendered  it  impossible  for  Mr.  Fenton 
to  apply  for  leave  to  return,  while  he  was  at  the 
same  time  in  such  a  condition  of  mind  that  to  con 
demn  him  for  service  by  medical  survey,  and  send 
him  home  in  that  way,  would  be  simply  sentencing 
him  to  death.  The  doctor  acknowledged  the  irre 
gularity  of  his  own  proceeding  in  making  this  appeal; 
but  he  urged  the  extremity  and  the  delicacy  of  the 
case  in  justification :  Mr.  Fenton  would  certainly 
not  survive  if  he  remained  in  the  station;  Doctor 
Simmons  staked  his  professional  reputation  upon 
that,  and  without  presuming  to  suggest  anything,  he 
begged  the  Admiral  to  consider  whether  some  public 
interest  could  not  be  served  by  Mr.  Fenton's  return 
on  duty.  The  next  day  Fenton  received  orders  to 
sail  by  the  first  steamer  from  Yokohama  with  de 
spatches  for  Washington.  It  was  at  the  time  of  the 
war  between  Japan  and  Corea,  in  which,  as  is  well 
known,  certain  eventualities  threatened  to  compro 
mise  American  interests. 

When  Doctor  Simmons  visited  his  patient  after 
the  orders  reached  him,  he  was  rewarded  for  the  tact 
with  which  he  had  accomplished  his  difficult  task  by 
Fenton's  accusation  that  he  had  brought  the  result 
about.  He  expected  this,  and  in  the  interest  of 
science,  he  met  the  accusation  with  lies  so  prompt 
lhat  they  would  have  carried  conviction  to  any  mind 
P 


226  A  WOMAN'S   REASON. 

less  sore  and  disordered  than  Fenton's.  He  told  him 
that  his  orders  were  a  god- send,  and  advised  him 
not  to  trouble  himself  about  how  or  why  they  had 
been  given.  In  fact  the  situation  admitted  of 
nothing  but  obedience  ;  upon  the  face  of  it  there  was 
no  point  that  the  most  self-accusing  scruples  could 
lay  hold  of;  and  Fenton  discovered  with  helpless 
shame  that  all  the  natural  forces  in  him  were  fighting 
against  his  broken  will.  He  was  quite  ready  for  the 
steamer  that  sailed  in  a  few  days  for  Yokohama  and 
San  Francisco ;  and  he  accepted  his  good  fortune 
upon  the  best  terms  he  could.  When  it  was  too  late 
he  began  to  realise  his  obligation  to  the  man  who 
had  saved  his  life,  and  given  it  back  to  him  with 
such  hope  as  now  rioted  in  his  heart  at  every  thought 
of  Helen  and  of  home.  He  was  a  week  out  from 
Yokohama,  and  he  could  do  nothing  but  write  a 
letter  to  the  surgeon,  trying  to  make  up  for  his  past 
thanklessness  by  a  vain  and  remote  profusion  of 
gratitude. 

He  was,  as  he  figured  it,  only  a  fortnight  from 
San  Francisco,  and  unless  he  suffered  some  detention 
at  Washington,  only  a  little  over  three  weeks  from 
Helen.  The  possibility  that  he  might  be  ordered 
away  upon  some  other  service  before  he  saw  her 
occurred  to  him,  but  only  as  one  of  those  disasters 
which  each  of  us  regards  as  too  cruel  and  monstrous 
ever  to  happen  to  himself.  He  bet  on  the  highest 
figures  in  the  pools  formed  to  guess  at  the  run  of  the 
ship  from  day  to  day ;  and  the  lady  who  held  the 
pools  was  not  long  in  divining  the  cause  of  his 


A  WOMAN'S   REASON.  227 

sanguine  faith  in  a  short  passage.  Mrs.  Bowers  was 
going  to  join  her  husband  iu  San  Francisco ;  the 
similarity  of  their  objects  gave  them  a  natural 
interest  in  each  other,  and  a  man  of  Fenton's  ordi 
nary  good  sense  and  reserve  was  capable  of  confiding 
in  this  sympathising  listener,  with  the  lover's  in 
genuous  egotism,  so  incredible  to  us  later  in  life. 
He  talked  continually  of  Helen  to  her,  when  perhaps 
she  would  much  rather  have  had  him  talk  about 
himself,  as  they  walked  up  and  down  the  deck  to 
gether  ;  he  told  her  everything  but  Helen's  name, 
which  she  threatened  she  would  have  yet  before  they 
got  to  San  Francisco.  In  the  meantime  they  always 
spoke  of  Helen  as  the  Mystery.  It  was  folly,  but  it 
made  Fenton  transcendently  happy;  these  confidences 
brought  Helen  nearer,  they  realised  her ;  they  almost, 
in  the  spiritualists'  phrase,  materialised  her.  The 
time  came  when,  the  moonless  night  being  propitious, 
he  told  Mrs.  Bowers  of  the  apparition  of  Helen,  and 
asked  her  what  she  thought  of  it.  She  said  that  she 
thought  it  the  most  wonderful  thing  she  had  ever 
heard  of  :  but  she  owned  that  she  did  not  know  what 
it  meant.  She  added  that  she  should  always  stand 
in  awe  of  a  person  who  had  had  such  a  thing  happen 
to  him ;  and  then  she  pressed  the  arm  on  which 
she  hung,  and  giggled ;  and  the  next  moment  she 
shrieked.  There  had  been  a  sudden,  violent  wrench 
and  shock ;  her  cry  was  answered,  after  a  moment's 
deathly  silence,  by  a  confused  clamour  from  all 
parts  of  the  ship;  and  the  passengers  came  rush 
ing  up  from  below,  where  they  had  been  playing 


228  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

euchre,  and  singing  hymns,  and  eating  bacon  and 
Welsh-rabbit,  and  implored  one  another  to  say  what 
had  happened.  According  to  usage  everywhere  in 
cases  of  accident,  there  was  no  authority  to  turn  to 
for  information ;  the  officers  of  the  ship  were  each 
about  his  duty,  and  they  severally  and  collectively 
underwent  severe  criticism  from  the  passengers  for 
their  absence  from  the  scene  of  the  common  dismay 
and  curiosity. 

Fenton  was  the  first,  in  virtue  of  his  office  and 
mission,  to  learn  that  the  ship  had  broken  her  shaft, 
and  must  put  back  to  Yokohama.  He  received  his 
sentence  with  desperate  fortitude. 

"  I  think  we  might  get  you  back  in  time  for  the 
next  boat,"  said  the  captain,  considerate  of  the  haste 
of  a  bearer  of  despatches,  "but  it  would  be  only  a 
chance.  This  is  a  sailing  craft  now.  With  a  fair 
wind  all  the  way,  we  might  do  it ;  but  that 's  almost 
too  much  to  hope  for.  Of  course  we  might  meet  the 
next  boat  on  her  way  home  before  we  make  Yoko 
hama,  but  that  would  be  still  more  of  a  chance." 

"Well,  I  must  go  back  with  you,  that's  all," 
replied  Fenton. 

"  Yes,  there  's  nothing  else  for  it,  that  I  see." 

The  passengers  in  the  saloon  were  divided  between 
two  minds,  and  inclined  in  about  equal  numbers  to 
hold  a  service  of  song  and  thanksgiving  for  their 
delivery  from  danger,  and  to  organise  an  indignation 
meeting  for  the  adoption  of  resolutions  condemning 
the  captain  for  snubbing  a  committee  of  inquiry, 
which  had  presented  a  just  interrogation  as  to  his 


A  WOMAN'S   REASON.  229 

purposes,  in  view  of  the  accident.  It  appeared,  from 
the  best  informed,  that  the  captain  had  at  once  put 
his  ship  about,  not  only  without  consulting  the  pas 
sengers'  wishes,  but  evidently  without  considering 
whether  it  was  not  quite  as  feasible  to  push  on  to 
San  Francisco  as  to  return  to  Yokohama.  There 
were  attempts  to  commit  some  of  the  stewards  to 
the  former  hypothesis. 

About  noon  the  next  day,  the  captain  spoke  a  ship, 
which,  under  a  full  press  of  canvas,  was  making 
speed  eastward  that  mocked  the  laggard  reluctance 
of  the  steamer  on  her  backward  course.  She  proved 
to  be  the  clipper  Meteor,  bound  for  San  Francisco, 
for  a  freight  of  wheat  to  Europe.  The  captain  invited 
Fenton  on  to  the  bridge. 

"  There 's  your  chance,"  he  said,  "  if  you  want  to 
risk  it.  But  you  must  be  quick  about  it." 

"  How  much  of  a  chance  is  it  ?"  asked  Fenton. 

"  Those  clippers  often  make  very  quick  runs.  She's 
bound  straight  for  where  you  want  to  go.  I  can't 
advise,  and  I  don't  know  whether  they'll  take  you." 

"I'll  risk  it!"  said  Fenton.  If  he  had  been 
given  more  time  to  hesitate  he  might  have  refused 
the  risk ;  but  he  was  not  given  the  time.  He 
scratched  a  line  to  Helen,  telling  her  what  had 
happened,  for  the  captain  of  the  steamer  to  post 
in  Yokohama  when  he  got  back,  so  that  she  might 
have  some  intelligence  of  him  in  case  of  further 
delay ;  but,  when  he  had  finished  his  letter,  he 
decided  that  it  would  distress  her  with  needless 
anxiety  if  it  reached  her  before  his  arrival,  and  that 


230  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

it  would  in  all  probability  come  after  him ;  and  so  he 
put  it  into  his  pocket,  instead  of  giving  it  to  the 
captain.  In  the  meantime,  there  was  further  un 
intelligible  parley  with  the  clipper ;  she  shortened 
sail  and  hove-to,  and  before  the  other  passengers 
had  well  realised  the  fact,  Fenton  and  his  baggage 
were  in  the  boat  which  the  steamer  had  lowered, 
and  was  rising  and  sinking  on  the  long  swells  that 
stretched  between  her  and  the  other  ship.  Mrs. 
Bowers  had  parted  from  him  with  effusion  :  "I  know 
you'll  find  her  alive  and  well,"  she  whispered  in 
generous  sympathy;  and  he  volunteered  to  look 
Mr.  Bowers  up  in  San  Francisco,  and  tell  him  all 
about  everything. 

The  other  passengers  received  the  adieux  which 
he  waved  and  bowed  them,  in  that  awe  which 
Americans  like  to  feel  for  any  representative  of  the 
national  dignity  :  we  see  so  little  of  it.  Fenton  had 
put  on  his  uniform  to  affect  as  powerfully  as  possible 
the  imagination  of  the  captain  of  the  clipper,  who 
was  quite  master  to  refuse  him  passage,  after  all ; 
the  captain  of  the  steamer  had  not  thought  it  best 
to  make  too  plain  his  purpose  in  sending  out  a  boat 
to  the  hasty  stranger. 

Both  his  precaution  and  Fenton's  had  been  well 
taken.  When  Captain  Rollins  of  the  Meteor  came 
to  understand  the  reason  why  his  ship  had  been 
stopped,  he  discharged  a  blast  of  profanity  of  a  range 
that  included  nearly  everything  in  animated  nature, 
except  Lieutenant  Fenton,  who  stood  sternly  patient 
before  him,  until  he  should  finish ;  perhaps  it  devoted 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  231 

him  the  more  terribly  by  this  exception.  When  the 
captain  stopped  for  breath,  Fenton  leaned  over  the 
rail,  and  motioned  off  the  steamer's  boat  which  lay 
rocking  on  the  sea  by  the  ship's  side ;  he  had  taken 
the  precaution  to  have  his  baggage  brought  on  board 
with  himself. 

"  I  am  bearer  of  despatches  to  Washington  from 
the  flag-ship  at  Hong-Kong.  Of  course,  you  expect 
to  take  me  on  to  San  Francisco,,  and  I  expect  to  pay 
you  for  the  best  quarters  you  can  give  me.  I  am 
Lieutenant  Fenton  of  the  Messasauga.  What  is  your 
name?" 

"  Rollins,"  growled  the  captain. 

"  Here,  my  man,"  said  Fenton  to  one  of  the  sea 
men,  "take  these  things  to  Captain  Rollins's  room." 

The  uniform  and  the  secure  bearing  had  their 
effect ;  few  men  knew  just  what  is  the  quality  and 
the  authority  of  a  bearer  of  despatches ;  the  sailor 
obeyed,  and  the  skipper  submitted.  He  was  by  no 
means  a  bad  fellow ;  he  belonged  to  the  old  school 
of  sea-captains,  now  almost  as  extinct  as  the  pirates 
whose  diction  they  inherited ;  his  furious  blasphemies 
were  merely  what  in  another  man  would  have  been 
some  tacit  reflections  upon  the  vexatious  nature  of 
the  case. 

Fenton  found  himself  neither  uncomfortable  nor 
really  unwelcome  on  the  Meteor.  Upon  the  hint 
given  him,  the  captain  turned  out  of  his  room  for 
the  lieutenant,  and  he  caused  some  distinct  improve 
ments  to  be  made  in  the  ship's  fare.  There  were  a 
number  of  Chinese  in  the  steerage,  and  among  the 


232  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

passengers  in  the  cabin  a  young  American  lady  re 
turning  with  her  mother  from  a  visit  to  her  brother 
in  China,  and  a  man  from  Kankakee,  Illinois,  who 
had  been  out  looking  up  the  sorghum-culture  in  its 
native  land.  The  sea-monotony  which  Fenton's 
coming  had  broken  for  the  moment  promptly  returned 
upon  this  company.  The  young  lady  had  not  Mrs. 
Bowers's  art  of  making  attentions  to  herself  appear 
an  act  of  devotion  to  Helen,  and  Fenton  offered  her 
only  the  necessary  politeness.  What  companionship 
he  had  was  with  the  Kankakee  man,  a  small,  meagre, 
melancholy  figure,  full  of  an  unembittered  discourage 
ment.  Continual  failure  in  life  had  apparently  sub 
dued  him  into  acquiescence  in  whatever  happened, 
without  destroying  his  faith  in  the  schemes  he  pro 
jected  ;  he  was  disheartened  with  himself,  not  with 
them,  and  he  had  the  gentleness  of  a  timid  nature 
which  curiously  appealed  to  the  gentleness  of  Fen- 
ton's  courage.  He  confessed  that  the  first  encounter 
between  the  lieutenant  and  the  captain  of  the  ship 
had  given  him  apprehensions,  and  he  insinuated  a 
deep  admiration  for  Fenton's  behaviour  in  that 
difficult  moment.  He  attached  himself  to  the  stronger 
man,  and  accepted  him  in  detail  with  a  simple  devo 
tion,  which  seemed  to  refer  as  much  to  Fenton's 
personal  presence  as  to  his  moral  qualities ;  and,  in 
fact,  the  lieutenant  was  then  a  gallant  figure.  The 
oval  of  his  regular  face  had  been  chiselled  by  his 
sickness  into  something  impressively  fine ;  with  his 
good  nose  and  mouth,  his  dark  moustache  and  im 
perial,  and  his  brown  tint,  he  was  that  sort  of  young 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  233 

American  whom  you  might  pronounce  an  Italian, 
before  you  had  seen  the  American  look  in  his  grey 
eyes.  His  slight  figure  had  a  greater  apparent  height 
than  it  really  attained. 

"  You  see,"  explained  the  Kankakee  man,  whose 
named  proved  to  be  Giff'en,  "  my  idea  was  that  if  I 
could  go  right  in  among  the  Chinese  people,  and  find 
out  how  the  thing  was  carried  on,  and  mebbe  talk 
with  some  of  their  leading  agriculturists  about  it,  I 
could  do  more  to  get  the  sorghum  culture  going 
among  us  in  six  months  than  the  agricultural  depart 
ment  of  Washington  could  in  six  years.  It 's  bound 
to  come.  It  won't  come  in  my  time,  nor  through 
anything  I  've  done,  but  that  sorghum  interest  is 
bound  to  be  a  big  thing  with  us  yet.  We  've  got 
the  climate,  and  we  've  got  the  soil  for  it.  I  '11  allow 
I  've  had  sorghum  on  the  brain  ever  since  I  first  saw 
it;  but  that's  no  reason  I'm  mistaken  about  it.  I 
know  it 's  got  to  come,  and  if  I  could  have  hit  it  the 
way  I  expected,  I  could  have  done  more  good,  and 
made  more  money  in  two  years  after  I  got  home 
than  I  'd  known  what  to  do  wTith." 

"And  how  was  it  you  didn't  hit  it1?"  asked 
Fenton. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  the  Kankakee  man,  whose 
name  was  Giffen,  "I  found  I  couldn't  talk  the  lan 
guage,  for  one  thing.  And  then  I  couldn't  seem  to  get 
anybody  interested.  I  did  try  to  get  into  the  country 
districts,  but  I  couldn't  make  any  great  headway: 
such  a  prejudice  against  foreigners  amongst  the 
Chinese  ;  and  I  hadn't  very  much  money  with  me, 


234  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

and  I  concluded  to  give  it  up.  But  I  found  out 
enough  to  know  that  our  people  can't  grow  sorghum 
on  the  Chinese  plan  and  make  it  pay ;  labour 's  too 
dear  and  we  've  got  to  employ  machinery.  I  've  got 
the  idea  of  a  sorghum-planter,  that,  if  I  can  get  any 
one  to  take  hold  of  it,  is  going  to  make  somebody's 
fortune.  Have  you  ever  been  to  Alaska  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Fenton. 

"  They  say  there 's  good  soil  in  Alaska,  and  there 's 
nothing  to  prevent  it 's  being  a  great  agricultural 
country  except  the  frost  four  or  five  feet  down.  Sun 
can't  get  at  it  on  account  of  the  moss.  But  you 
scrape  that  moss  off  once,  and  let  the  sun  have  a  fair 
show  for  one  summer, — well,  I  believe  the  thing  can 
be  done,  if  any  one  had  the  sense  to  go  about  it  the 
right  way.  And  I  've  got  my  eye  on  a  kind  of 
coffee  they  grow  on  the  Sandwich  Islands,  that  I 
believe  can  be  introduced  with  us,  if  the  right  parties 
can  be  got  to  take  hold  of  it." 

The  good  weather  continued  for  another  week, 
with  westerly  winds  that  carried  the  Meteor  on  her 
course  till  she  had  made  nearly  three  thousand  miles 
since  leaving  Shanghai.  Each  day  took  him  two 
hundred  or  two  hundred  and  fifty  nearer  home,  and 
Fenton  looked  forward  to  a  prosperous  run  all  the 
way  to  San  Francisco  with  hopes  that  he  dutifully 
disguised  to  himself  as  fears.  Towards  the  end  of 
the  week,  the  wind  began  to  haul  back  to  the  south 
ward,  and  fell  till  it  scarcely  stirred  a  ripple  on  the 
sea,  but  he  did  not  lose  courage.  He  explained  to 
the  other  passengers  that  they  could  afford  to  los<i 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  235 

a  few  days'  time  and  still  make  one  of  the  greatest 
runs  on  record.  They  heard  him  with  the  trust  due 
a  man  of  his  experience  and  profession,  and  when 
the  wind  again  sprang  up  in  the  west,  they  paid  him 
the  honours  of  a  prophet  with  the  idle  zeal  of  people 
at  sea,  glad  even  of  the  distraction  which  respect  for 
another's  wisdom  afforded  them.  But  the  wind 
suddenly  backed  from  the  west  to  the  south,  a 
strange  yellow  tinge  spread  over  the  purple  sky, 
and  faded  to  a  dull  grey,  through  which  the  sun 
burnt  only  the  space  of  its  rayless  ball.  The 
mercury  fell,  and  the  wind  dropped  again  to  a  dead 
calm,  from  which  it  rose  in  sharp  gusts  that  settled, 
as  the  day  closed,  into  a  heavy  gale  from  the  north 
west.  The  ship  drove  before  the  storm  for  three 
days  and  nights.  When  the  fourth  morning  broke 
she  seemed  to  have  been  blown  beyond  its  track; 
but  one  of  her  masts  was  gone  ;  the  sails  hung  in 
ribbons  from  the  yards ;  the  tangled  and  twisted 
shrouds  swept  her  deck,  and  all  but  two  of  her  boats 
had  been  carried  away.  The  first  observation  pos 
sible  since  the  storm  began  showed  that  she  had 
been  driven  nearly  a  thousand  miles  to  the  south 
east;  but  she  was  put  upon  her  course  again,  and 
laboured  on  till  night-fall.  At  nine  o'clock  the  pas 
sengers  huddled  together  in  the  cabin  heard  a  cry 
of  "Hard  down  your  helm!"  and  the  ship  struck 
with  a  violence  that  threw  them  to  the  floor ;  then 
recoiling,  she  struck  again,  with  a  harsh,  grating 
force,  and  ceased  to  move.  In  this  instant  of  arrest 
Fenton  found  his  feet,  and  scrambled  to  the  deck. 


236  A  WOMAN'S   REASON. 

The  Meteor  hung  upon  a  coral  reef,  that  defined  itself 
under  the  starlight  in  the  curving  line  of  breakers 
on  either  hand.  The  seas  swept  over  her  where  she 
lay  on  her  beam-ends,  and  at  every  rush  of  the 
breakers  she  pounded  heavily  on  the  reef.  Beyond 
it  was  a  stretch  of  smoother  water,  from  which 
seemed  to  rise  a  low  irregular  mass  of  rock,  forming 
with  the  reef  a  rude  quadrangle.  There  was  no  hope 
for  the  ship,  and  no  hope  for  her  people  unless  they 
could  somehow  reach  this  rock.  It  was  useless 
to  launch  the  boats  in  such  a  sea;  they  tried 
one,  but  it  filled  as  soon  as  it  touched  the  water, 
and  nothing  remained  but  to  carry  a  line,  if  it  could 
be  done,  to  the  island  beyond  the  reef.  The  captain 
called  for  volunteers,  but  the  men  hung  back.  It 
was  not  the  time  to  parley  ;  Fenton  passed  one  end 
of  the  line  round  his  waist,  and  plunged  into  the 
gulf  under  the  lee  of  the  ship.  When  he  reached 
the  rock,  he  found  that  two  sailors  had  followed 
him,  and  these  now  helped  him  to  pull  in  the  heavier 
line  attached  to  the  cord,  which  he  had  made  fast  to  a 
point  of  the  rock.  A  hauling  rope  was  carried  along 
this  line,  and  in  the  glare  of  the  lights  burned  on 
the  ship,  they  began  to  bring  her  people  away  one 
by  one.  A  sailor  mounted  into  the  sling  running 
upon  the  rope,  with  a  woman  or  child  in  his  arms, 
and  was  hauled  to  the  rock  and  back  again  to  the 
ship ;  and  all  the  women  and  children  were  set 
ashore,  even  some  poor  creatures  among  the  Chinese, 
before  any  of  the  men  were  suffered  to  land.  These 
followed,  till  none  of  the  passengers  but  the  China- 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  237 

men  were  left.  They  stood  huddled  together  at  the 
bow,  which  had  shifted  round  under  the  blows  of 
the  surf,  and  was  hanging  seaward,  and  the  lights, 
burning  now  green,  now  crimson,  now  purple,  showed 
them  tossing  their  arms  into  the  air,  as  if  in  some 
weird  incantation,  as  they  tried  to  free  the  wet 
joss-papers  that  clung  to  their  fingers ;  their  shrill 
supplications  pierced  through  the  roar  of  the 
breakers.  The  captain  reported  that  he  tried  to 
make  them  understand  how  they  were  to  reach  the 
reef ;  but  they  would  not  or  could  not  understand. 
He  and  his  officers  then  flung  themselves  upon 
the  line,  straining  under  the  seaward  lapse  of  the 
wreck  ;  and  at  the  same  moment  the  vessel  parted 
amidships,  and  the  bow  where  the  Chinese  were 
grouped  weltered  back  with  them  into  the  sea.  The 
lights  died  out,  and  the  ship's  bell,  which  had  been 
tolling  dismally  as  she  pounded  on  the  reef,  suddenly 
ceased  to  sound.  The  broken  hulk  grew  up  once 
more  in  the  dark,  and  the  roar  of  the  breakers  rushed 
loud  again  upon  the  moment  of  horror  that  had  been 
like  a  moment  of  silence. 

When  Fenton  first  touched  the  rock  where  all  the 
survivors  of  the  wreck  were. now  gathered,  it  rose 
scarcely  a  foot  above  the  water  at  the  highest  point, 
and  by  the  time  the  captain  reached  it,  they  stood 
knee-deep  in  the  rising  tide.  An  hour  after  midnight 
it  was  high-tide,  and  it  was  only  by  holding  fast  to 
each  other  that  they  could  keep  their  footing. 

The  moon  broke  from  the  clouds,  and  one  of  the 
sailors  whipped  out  his  knife,  with  a  cry  of  "  Look 


238  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

out  for  yourselves ! "  and  made  a  cut  at  something 
in  the  water.  Fenton  looked,  and  saw  that  the  sea 
around  them  was  full  of  sharks.  He  helped  the 
captain  form  the  men  about  the  women  and  children, 
and  they  fought  the  fish  away  with  cries,  and 
thrusts  of  their  knives,  and  blows  of  the  splinters 
and  fragments  of  the  wreck  which  the  breakers  had 
flung  them  over  the  reef,  till  the  tide  turned,  and 
the  most  hideous  of  their  dangers  had  passed  for  the 
time. 

With  the  first  light  of  day  came  their  first  gleam 
of  hope.  One  of  the  ship's  boats,  which  must  have 
been  carried  around  the  line  of  their  reef,  came 
floating  to  them,  bottom  up,  on  the  refluent  tide  from 
the  other  quarter.  It  proved  to  be  so  little  injured 
that  the  captain  and  some  of  his  men  were  able  to 
put  off  in  it  to  the  wreck,  where  they  found  tools  for 
repairing  it,  and  abundant  stores.  When  they 
returned  to  the  rock,  they  had  a  mast  with  its  sail 
ready  to  be  stepped,  lying  in  the  boat,  and  several 
pairs  of  mismated  oars,  which  they  had  picked  up 
outside.  But  it  was  the  smallest  of  the  boats,  and 
the  castaways  counted  each  other  with  cruel  eyes  as 
it  drew  near.  The  rock  where  they  stood  was  one  of 
those  dead  atolls  in  which  the  Pacific  abounds  :  a  tiny 
coral  isle,  once  tufted  with  palms,  and  gay  with  per 
petual  green,  which  the  sinking  of  the  ocean's  floor 
had  dropped  below  the  tide,  and  left  lurking  there 
with  its  guardian  reef,  a  menace  and  a  deadly  peril  to 
navigation.  Somewhere  within  a  day's  sail  there  must 
be  other  islands  of  kindred  origin,  but  with  a  certain 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  239 

area  of  dry  and  habitable  land,  which  the  boat  might 
reach.  But  who  should  go,  and  who  should  wait 
her  uncertain  return  1  It  was  not  a  question  of  the 
women  and  children,  nor  of  their  husbands  and 
fathers,  but  when  all  these  had  crowded  into  the 
boat,  seven  men  remained  upon  the  rock. 

"Captain  Rollins,  there  isn't  room  for  us  all  in 
that  boat,"  Fenton  heard  his  voice  saying :  "  I  ask 
no  man  to  share  my  risk,  but  I  'm  going  to  stay  here, 
for  one/' 

"  I  don't  ask  any  man  to  stay,"  said  Captain 
Rollins.  "  I  've  left  sixteen  thousand  dollars  in  gold, 
— all  I  've  got  in  this  world, — on  the  ship,  so  as  to 
keep  the  boat  as  light  as  I  could ;  but,  as  you  say, 
lieutenant,  she  can't  hold  us  all." 

There  was  a  little  pause ;  then  three  sailors,  with 
a  shame-faced  avoidance  of  Teuton's  eye,  pushed  past 
him  toward  the  boat. 

One  of  the  passengers — an  Englishman — rose  up. 
"  My  good  men,"  he  said,  "  you  're  surely  not  coming." 

"  Yes,  we  are,"  replied  one  of  them  surlily.  "  Why 
shouldn't  we  come  as  well  as  you  ] " 

"  But  the  boat  is  too  full  already  !  "  he  expostulated. 
"  You  endanger  the  lives  of  the  passengers  /"  he  cried, 
with  that  respect  for  the  rights  of  the  travelling 
public  which  fills  the  Englishman  when  he  writes  to 
the  Times  of  the  inattention  of  the  railway  company's 
servants. 

"  Let  the  passengers  get  out,  then,"  said  the  sailor. 
"  We  don't  want  'em  here."  His  joke  raised  a  laugh 
among  his  fellows,  "  Come  along,  John;  come  along, 


240  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Jake,"  he  called  to  the  seamen  who  still  remained 
with  Fenton. 

"  No  ;  guess  not,"  said  one  of  them  quietly. 

The  matter-of-fact,  every-day  character  of  the 
details  of  the  calamity,  the  unchanged  nature  of  the 
actors  in  this  tragedy  of  life  and  death,  robbed  it  of 
reality  to  Fenton's  sense,  and  made  it  like  some 
crudely  represented  fiction  of  the  theatre. 

The  figure  of  Giffen  interposed  itself  between  him 
and  the  captain  who  stood  at  the  bow  of  the  boat,  in 
the  act  of  offering  his  hand  in  farewell.  "Excuse 
me"  he  said,  answering  Fenton's  look,  "I  'm  going  to 
stay.  But  I  want  Captain  Kollins,  if  he  gets  back, 
to  write  to  my  brother,  George  Giffen,  at  Kankakee." 

The  harsh  name,  so  grotesquely  unrelated  to  any 
thing  that  was  there  or  then,  awoke  Fenton  from  his 
maze.  Was  there  a  world  beyond  these  seas  where 
there  were  towns  and  fields,  chimneys  and  trees,  the 
turmoil  of  streets,  the  quiet  of  firesides  ?  His  heart 
seemed  to  close  upon  itself,  and  stand  still,  as  the 
image  of  Helen  sewing  beside  the  little  table  in  the 
library,  in  the  way  he  always  saw  her,  possessed  him. 
The  next  moment,  this  in  its  turn  was  the  theatrical 
vision,  and  he  was  standing  on  a  point  of  rock  in  a 
wilderness  of  waters,  the  boat  at  his  feet,  and  the 
broken  wreck  upon  the  reef  a  stone's-cast  away.  He 
took  from  his  breast  the  water-tight  packet  in  which 
he  carried  his  despatches,  and  wrote  upon  the  back 
of  one  of  them  a  line  to  Helen  •  with  her  address,  and 
a  request  that  it  might  be  forwarded  to  her.  "  Here 
are  some  letters,"  he  said,  handing  the  packet  to  the 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  241 

captain,  with  a  light-headed  sense  of  sending  them 
to  some  one  in  another  life. 

"Why,  bless  you,  man!"  cried  Captain  Eollins, 
"  I  shall  find  land  before  night,  and  I  shall  be  back 
for  you  here  by  this  time  to-morrow  morning  ! " 

"  Yes,  yes  !"  returned  Fenton.  "  Don't  stay,  now/' 
he  added  impatiently.  "  Good-bye." 

The  four  men  on  the  rock  watched  the  boat  till  she 
showed  so  small  in  the  distance  that  they  could  no 
longer  be  sure  whether  they  saw  her  or  *not ;  then 
they  turned  their  eyes  upon  each  other.  Whatever 
the  two  seamen  left  behind  with  Fenton  may  have 
thought  of  his  looks,  he  could  not  congratulate  him 
self  upon  theirs.  But  he  said,  "  You  are  the  men  who 
followed  me  with  the  line  last  night." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  one  of  them. 

"  You  're  not  afraid,  any  way,"  said  Fenton,  as  if 
this  were  the  most  that  could  be  said  for  them. 

"  I  guess  we  get  along,"  said  the  man,  "  I  rather  be 
on  this  rock,  than  that  boat,  with  so  much  people." 

"  What  are  you  1 "  asked  Fenton  ;  for  the  man  spoke 
with  a  certain  accent  and  a  foreigner's  hesitation. 

"I'm  Fayal  man;  I  live  at  Gloucester,  Massa 
chusetts  ;  John  Jones." 

Fenton  recognised  the  name  under  which  most 
Portuguese  sailors  ship.  "And  who  are  you  V '  he 
asked  of  the  other,  who  was  as  tall  and  fair  as  the 
Portuguese  was  dark  and  short. 

He  grinned,  and  the  latter  answered  for  him.  "  He 
don't  speak  much  English.  He  's  some  Dutchman ; 
Icelander,  I  guess." 

Q 


242  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Fenton.       "  You  know  where 
we  are,  and  what  the  chances  are." 
"Yes,  sir." 

"  I  reckon,"  said  Giffen,  "  we  can  make  out  to 
worry  along  somehow  till  the  boat  gets  back."  The 
sailors  had  begun  to  breakfast  on  the  stores  the 
boat  had  brought  off  from  the  wreck  and  left  for  them 
on  the  rock,  and  Giffen  turned  to  with  them. 

"  It  won't  do  to  count  too  much  upon  the  boat's 
coming  back,"  replied  Fenton,  suddenly  hungry  at 
sight  of  the  others  eating.  "They  may  find  land 
before  night,  and  they  may  not  find  it  for  two  weeks. 
At  any  rate,  the  sharks  will  be  back  before  they 
are." 

Giffen's  jaw  dropped,  with  a  large  morsel  bulging 
his  cheek. 

"Come,  man!"  cried  Fenton  sharply,  "you'd 
better  have  crowded  into  the  boat  with  the  others, 
if  you're  sorry  you  stayed." 

"I  don't  suppose  I've  got  any  great  physical 
courage,"  said  Giffen,  in  his  slow  weak  voice.  "  But 
I  'm  not  sorry  I  stayed.  I  'm  ready  to  do  whatever 
you  say.  I  'm  a  born  high-private,  if  ever  there  was 
one." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  Fenton  began,  ashamed  of 
his  petulant  outburst. 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  right,"  said  Giffen  quietly.  "  But 
I  'm  in  earnest,  I  'd  rather  follow  some  other  man's 
luck,  any  time." 

"  I  shall  not  ask  you  to  do  anything  that  I  'm  not 
ready  to  do  myself,"  returned  Fenton.  "We  must 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  243 

get  out  to  the  wreck,"  he  added,  including  the  Portu 
guese,  "  and  see  what  we  can  make  of  it.  And  the 
sooner  we  get  to  it  the  better." 

"  I  'm  ready,"  said  the  sailor,  closing  the  clasp 
knife  with  which  he  had  been  eating ;  and  the 
Icelander,  who  seemed  to  understand  everything 
through  him,  pocketed  his  knife  also. 

They  wraded  into  the  shoal  water,  and  swam  round 
the  stern  of  the  ship  where  it  overhung  the  reef,  and 
tried  to  board  her.  But  there  was  no  means  of 
doing  this,  unless  they  passed  the  reef,  and  ventured 
into  the  sea  beyond,  where  they  knew  the  sharks  were 
waiting.  They  returned  to  their  rock,  and  began 
to  gather  up  the  pieces  of  shattered  spars  and  planks, 
that  the  rising  tide  was  bringing  in,  and  with  such 
odds  and  ends  of  cordage  and  rags  of  sail  as  clung 
to  these  fragments,  they  contrived  a  raft,  on  which 
they  hoped  to  float  out  to  the  wreck  when  the  tide 
turned  once  more.  After  the  raft  was  finished  and 
made  fast  to  the  rock,  they  climbed  upon  it,  and, 
launching  upon  the  ebb,  drifted  out  through  a  break 
in  the  reef,  and  contrived  to  clamber  up  her  broken 
timbers.  They  could  see  that  this  fragment  of  a 
ship  must  soon  go  to  pieces,  under  the  incessant 
blows  of  the  waves ;  and  Fenton  and  Giffen  made 
all  haste  in  their  search  for  tools  and  materials  to 
strengthen  their  float  so  that  they  might  put  to  sea 
on  it  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst.  The  sailors 
began  ransacking  the  wreck  with  a  purpose  of  their 
own,  and  in  the  end,  they  all  owed  their  lives  to  the 
rapacity  which  left  no  part  of  the  ship  unsearched; 


244  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

for  it  was  the  Portuguese  who  found  wedged  in 
among  the  shattered  timbers  of  the  hulk,  where  some 
caprice  of  the  waves  had  lodged  it,  the  boat  that 
had  foundered  the  night  before.  Every  blow  of  the 
sea  had  driven  it  tighter  into  the  ruin,  and  it  was  an 
hour's  struggle  in  the  dark,  waist-deep  in  water, 
amid  the  bodies  of  the  drowned  Chinamen,  and  just 
within  the  line  of  the  sharks  that  were  preying  upon 
them,  before  the  boat  could  be  cut  out.  When  they 
pulled  it  up  on  the  deck  at  last,  it  was  in  a  condition 
that  must  have  seemed  desperate  to  less  desperate 
men ;  but  in  this  extremity  Giffen  developed  the 
shiftiness  of  a  dabbler  in  many  trades,  and  his  rude 
knack  with  the  saw  and  hammer  rendered  the 
battered  boat  seaworthy.  Fenton  found  a  bag  of 
flour,  water-soaked  without,  but  fresh  and  dry  within ; 
a  few  biscuit  and  some  peas  and  beans,  with  which 
he  provisioned  her;  and  a  shot  gun,  with  a  store 
of  water-proof  cartridges,  with  which  he  armed  her. 
With  Giffen's  help  he  fashioned  a  mast  out  of 
one  of  the  broken  yards,  and  patched  together 
a  sail  from  the  shreds  and  tatters  of  canvas  hang 
ing  about  it.  The  wreck  was  settling  more  and 
more  deeply  into  the  sea  when  they  launched  their 
boat  at  sunset,  and  returned  to  the  rock  where  they 
made  her  fast. 

The  last  man  to  come  over  the  side  of  the  ship 
was  the  Portuguese,  who  carried  in  either  hand  a 
buckskin  bag. 

"That's  Captain  Eollins's  money,"  said  Fenton. 
"  Take  good  care  of  it  " 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  245 

"All  right.  I  look  out  for  it,"  answered  the 
sailor. 

With  the  refluent  tide  the  sharks  came  back  again. 
The  dead  Chinamen  came  with  them,  and  seemed  to 
join  in  beleaguering  the  castaways,  crouching  in 
their  boat,  which  pulled  at  her  moorings,  as  if  strug 
gling  to  escape  the  horrors  that  hemmed  them  round. 
They  had  found  no  water  on  the  wreck,  and  a  con 
suming  thirst  parched  them.  When  the  morning 
broke  it  showed  them  the  surf  beating  over  the  reef 
where  the  ship  had  hung,  and  the  sea  strewn  with  its 
fragments. 

"  We  can't  stay  here,"  said  Fen  ton.  "  We  must 
find  land  for  ourselves  somewhere — and  water." 

"That's  so,"  admitted  Giffen,  with  feeble  acquies 
cence. 

"  I  know  they  never  come  back  for  us,"  said  the 
Portuguese.  "I  goin'  tell  you  that,  yesterday." 

They  cut  their  boat  from  her  moorings,  and  ran 
lightly  away  before  the  breeze  that  carried  them 
where  it  would. 

The  sky  was  again  of  the  blue  of  the  weather  that 
had  prospered  the  first  weeks  of  the  Meteor's  voyage ; 
again  its  vast  arch  was  undimmed  by  a  cloud  from 
horizon  to  horizon ;  and  it  only  darkened  to  a  deeper 
blue,  filled  with  large  southern  stars,  when  the  sun 
dropped  below  the  sea,  and  the  swift  tropical  night 
closed  round  them. 

The  castaways,  voyaging  none  of  them  knew 
where,  and  trusting  for  rescue  to  whatever  chance  of 
land  or  passing  sail  befriended  them,  with  the  danger 


246  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

of  tempest,  and  the  certainty  of  starvation  after  a 
given  time,  before  them,  had  already  divided  them 
selves  into  two  camps,  tacitly  distrustful  if  not 
hostile ;  the  sailors  guarded  between  them  the  booty 
that  they  had  brought  from  the  wreck,  and  Fenton 
and  Giffen  watched  by  turns  with  the  gun  in  their 
hands.  But  at  daybreak,  a  common  joy  united 
them.  On  the  edge  of  the  sea  a  line  of  dark  points 
printed  itself  against  the  sky,  and,  as  they  approached, 
these  points  rounded  into  tufts,  and  then  opened  into 
the  feathery  crests  of  cocoa  palms,  with  broken 
stretches  of  delicious  verdure  between  the  stems. 
The  long  white  wall  beneath,  that  glistened  in  the 
rising  sun,  like  a  bank  of  snow,  expanded  into  a 
smooth,  sloping  beach ;  the  deep  surf  flashed  and 
thundered  along  the  outer  reef;  and  then  the  little 
coral  isle,  encircling  its  slumbrous  lagoon,  took  shape 
before  their  eyes.  They  tacked  and  wore  to  find  a 
passage  through  the  reef,  and  so,  between  the  islets 
of  the  palm-belt,  over  smooth  depths  of  delicate 
yellow  and  apple-green,  they  slipped  into  the  still 
waters  of  the  lake,  and  ran  across  to  the  white  coral 
beach.  They  fell  upon  the  sand,  and  scooped  with 
their  hands  a  hollow  into  which  oozed  a  little  water 
that  they  could  drink  ;  and  then  they  kindled  a  fire 
with  some  matches  that  Giffen  had  brought  from  the 
wreck,  and  roasted  the  shell-fish  the  sailors  found 
among  the  rocks. 

"  I  think  this  goin'  to  be  nice  place,  Cap'n,"  said 
the  Portuguese,  stretching  himself  face  downwards  on 
the  clean  sand,  when  he  had  eaten  and  drunken  his 


A  WOMAN'S   REASON.  247 

fill.  "Plenty  to  eat,  plenty  to  drink,  nothin'  to  do. 
By-'n'-by  some  ship  goin'  to  come  here.  We  're  all 
right,  heigh?" 

The  little  brown-faced  man  lifted  to  Fenton's  face 
his  black  eyes,  sparkling  like  a  rat's  with  the  content 
of  a  full  stomach. 

The  Icelander  laughed  as  if  he  had  understood  his 
shipmate,  and  while  the  Portuguese  luxuriously 
dropped  off  to  sleep,  he  wandered  away,  leaving 
Fenton  and  Giffen  to  prospect  for  the  best  place  to 
put  the  hut  they  must  build.  "  I  don't  like  the  way 
those  fellows  take  it,  exactly,"  said  the  latter.  "  They 
let  themselves  up  pretty  easy  when  it  comes  to  a 
question  of  work,"  he  added,  with  a  mild  sense  of 
injury  in  his  tone. 

But  the  Icelander  returned  after  a  while  with  a 
large  turtle  he  had  caught,  and  with  his  hat  full  of 
turtles'  eggs,  which  he  had  found  in  the  sand.  The 
Fayal  man,  when  he  awoke,  joined  him  in  a  second 
foraging  expedition,  and  they  came  back  laden  with 
fish  and  birds.  John  Jones  showed  himself  skilled 
in  primitive  methods  of  roasting  and  broiling  on  hot 
stones.  He  opened  the  bag  of  flour,  and  made  a 
store  of  bread,  which  he  baked  in  the  ashes ;  and  by 
the  time  Fenton  and  Giffen  had  finished  the  rude 
shelter  they  had  been  knocking  together  for  the 
night,  in  the  cocoa  grove,  he  called  them  to  a  supper 
which  a  famine  far  less  fastidious  than  theirs  must 
have  found  delicious. 

"  Well,  you  are  a  cook,"  said  Giffen,  with  the 
innate  disrespect  for  his  art,  which  our  race  feels. 


248  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  But  you  Ve  got  enough  here  for  a  regiment,"  he 
added,  looking  round  on  the  store  of  provisions, 
cooked  and  uncooked,  which  was  heaped  up  on  the 
sand. 

"  Oh,  plenty  more  where  that  come  from,"  said  the 
Portuguese.  "They  all  good  cold.  I  don't  like 
cookin'  to-morrow;  want  to  eat  and  sleep  for  a 
week." 

The  Icelander  had  strayed  away  again,  and  they 
saw  him  climbing  the  palms,  and  strewing  the  earth 
beneath  with  cocoa  nuts.  "  Jake  seems  to  be  laying 
out  for  a  week's  rest  too,"  said  Giften. 

The  Portuguese  laughed  at  the  joke.  "  You  better 
take  that  money  up  to  your  house,  Cap'n,"  he  said 
to  Fenton. 

"  Where  is  it  1 "  asked  Fenton. 

The  Portuguese  showed  the  two  bags,  where  he 
had  placed  them,  in  a  tuft  of  grass. 

Fenton  hesitated  a  moment.  "  You  can  bring  it  up 
with  you  when  you  get  through  here,"  he  said  finally. 

The  Portuguese  and  his  ship-mate  came  carrying 
up  the  provision  to  the  hut,  after  Fenton  and  Giffen 
had  stretched  themselves  on  their  beds  of  grass. 

"Cap'n,"  he  said,  waking  Fenton,  "here's  the 
money.  What  we  goin'  do  with  that  boat  ? " 

"  Let  her  be  where  she  is  ;  nothing  can  happen  to 
her,"  answered  Fenton,  heavy  in  heart  and  soul,  and 
sodden  with  sleep,  as  he  placed  his  hand  on  the 
bags  the  sailor  had  put  down  beside  him. 

"  Yes,"  chuckled  the  Portuguese,  "  I  guess  nobody 
goin'  steal  her." 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  249 

The  sailors  did  not  come  into  the  hut ;  they  began 
to  build  a  shelter  of  their  own,  and  the  noise  of  their 
work  followed  Fenton  into  his  sleep.  He  had 
watched  for  three  days  and  nights;  he  could  not 
rouse  himself  from  the  deathly  slumber  into  which 
he  dropped  again  in  spite  of  a  formless  fear  that 
beset  him ;  but  he  woke  toward  morning,  with  this 
terror,  which  proved  more  potent  than  the  fatigue 
that  drugged  him.  The  money  was  still  there; 
the  sailors  were  peacefully  snoring  in  their  hut ;  and 
Giffen  lay  asleep  across  the  gun.  He  staggered  down 
to  look  at  the  boat.  It  was  safe  where  they  had  left 
it,  and  he  returned  to  their  shelter,  where  he  watched 
an  hour,  as  he  thought;  then  he  woke  Giffen,  and 
bidding  him  call  him  in  his  turn,  when  he  could  no 
longer  keep  awake,  he  fell  asleep  once  more.  It 
must  have  been  his  visit  to  the  boat  that  suggested 
the  drearn  which  seemed  to  begin  as  soon  as  he  closed 
his  eyes.  He  dreamed  that  they  were  at  sea  again 
in  the  boat,  and  that  they  saw  a  sail  in  the  offing,  so 
near  that  those  on  board,  who  did  not  see  them, 
must  hear  them  if  they  united  in  one  loud  cry.  They 
rose  up  together  for  the  effort,  but  their  voices  died 
in  a  gasp  on  their  lips.  Fenton  burst  into  a  groan 
of  despair. 

"My  Lord!  what's  the  matter?"  cried  Giffen, 
shaking  the  dreamer.  Fenton  scrambled  to  his  feet ; 
the  money-bags  were  still  there,  but  the  sailors  were 
gone ;  he  tore  open  the  bags ;  they  were  filled  with 
shells  and  sand.  He  rushed  down  to  the  beach; 
the  boat  had  disappeared;  on  the  horizon  a  sail, 


250  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

no  bigger  than  the  petal  of  a  flower,  flickered  and 
faded. 

It  was  sunset,  and  they  had  slept  through  the 
night  and  the  whole  day. 

Fenton  turned  a  look  on  his  fellow-captive,  which 
Giffen  met  with  a  face  of  ghastly  self-upbraiding. 
"My  God,"  he  said,  "I  fell  asleep!  I  hated  to 
wake  you,  and  I  fell  asleep  before  I  knew  it !" 

"It  doesn't  matter,"  replied  Fenton,  with  the 
nerveless  quiet  of  his  despair.  "Sooner  or  later, 
they  meant  to  do  it." 

They  turned  blankly  from  the  fact;  it  was  days 
before  they  could  confront  it  in  speech;  and  then, 
with  the  conjecture  that  the  sailors  had  set  out  in 
search  of  some  inhabited  land,  where  they  could 
enjoy  the  spoil  of  the  ship,  their  desertion  remained 
incredible,  unimaginable. 


XII. 

IT  has  been  intimated  that  Helen  entered  upon 
her  new  life  at  Mrs.  Hewitt's  with  social  pre 
occupations  in  her  own  favour  which  she  was  by 
no  means  prepared  to  surrender;  and  she  did  not 
think  of  yielding  them,  even  in  the  abjectest 
moments  of  her  failure  and  humiliation.  In  the  in 
terval  of  idleness  that  followed,  she  was  again  purely 
and  simply  a  young  lady,  not  attached  by  any  sort 
of  sympathy  to  the  little  boarding-house  world,  though  x 
she  had  always  meant  to  treat  it  with  consideration. 
But  it  is  impossible  that  one  who  has  been  bred  to 
be  .....  of  no  use  sfrrii'iTrf'rii'nt  fftp.1  an  fl.dvfl.ntfl.gp77)YfiLaJl 
those  who  have  been  bred  to  be  of  sjomejisej_and  if  for 
no£th£r_ifiasoft4J^a-mu&t  -have-confessed,  wittingly. 
and  unwittingly,  by  a  thousand  little  recoils  and 

and     herself 


couldjoeyer  meet  on  a  level.  It  was  perfectly  easy, 
however,  toKeep  aloof.  Softer  the  first  necessary 
civilities  with  the  Evanses,  she  only  met  them  on  the 
stairs  or  at  the  table,  where  the  talk  was  mainly  be 
tween  Mr.  Evans  and  Miss  Eoot,  the  art-  student.  It 


252  A  WOMAN'S   REASON. 

appeared  from  the  casual  confidences  of  the  landlady 
that  Miss  Root  was  studying  to  be  a  painter,  and  that 
some  of  her  work  was  beautiful.  Mrs.  Hewitt  owned 
that  she  was  no  judge  of  painting,  but  she  said  that 
she  knew  what  she  liked.  She  told  Helen  also  that 
Mr.  Evans  was  one  of  the  editors  of  Saturday  After 
noon,  a  paper  which  she  praised  because  she  said  it 
gave  you  the  news  about  everybody,  and  kept  you 
posted,  so  that  you  could  tell  just  where  they  were 
and  what  they  were  doing,  all  the  while  ;  she  believed 
that  Mr.  Evans  was  not  connected  with  this  admir 
able  part  of  the  paper  :  he  wrote  mostly  about  the 
theatres  and  the  new  books. 

Helen  was  amused  by  some  of  his  talk  at  the  table ; 
but  she  was  not  at  all  sure  about  the  Evanses.  She 
could  not  tell  exactly  why  ;  onejaever  can  tell  exactly 

why,  especially  if  one  is  a  lady.) Mrs.  Evans  seemed 

well  enough  educated  and  well  enough  dressed ;  she 
had  been  abroad  the  usual  term  of  years ;  she  neither 
unduly  sought  nor  repelled  acquaintance ;  but  from 
the  first,  Helen  Ava^jainlully_jLware  of  not  having 
heard-Df  her ;  and  one  is  equally  uncertain  of  people 
of  whom  one  has  heard  nothing,  or  heard  too  much. 
As  soon  as  she  learned  what  Mr.  Evans's  business 
was,  she  understood,  of  course,  that  they  could  never 
have  been  people  that-^eople  knew ;  and,  Were  they 
not  a  little  Bohemian  l^she  asked,  rather  tepidly,  one 
day,  when  an  old  friend  of  hers,  whom  she  happened 
to  meet,  broke  into  effusive  praise  of  them,  on  hearing 
that  Helen  was  in  the  same  house  with  them. 

"  My  dear,''  said  MJ^L  F^rsbiiry,  summing  up  in 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  253 


a  word  th^oisJLi&atjjJSr^^ 

pLjLJiian,  £he  is  easy-going  !     Jkit  he  is  very  kind  ; 

and  she  is  the  salt  of  the  earth.  "Hi 

"  And  some  of  the  pepper?"  suggested  Helen. 

"  A  little  of  the  pepper,  without  doubt.  But  not 
a  grain  more  than  is  good  for  him.  He  would  be 
nothing  without  her,"  she  added,  in  the  superstition 
ladies  love  'to  cherish  concerning  the  real  headship 
of  the  family.  "  She  makes  up  all  her  own  things, 
and  teaches  that  boy  herself.  And  you  have  another 
person  there  who  is  really  a  character  :  Miss  Root. 
If  you  see  any  of  her  work,  you  '11  see  that  she  is  an 
artist  ;  but  you'll  have  to  see  a  great  deal  of  her 
before  you  find  out  that  she  's  the  best  soul  in  the 
world.  With  her  little  time,  and  her  little  money, 
she  does  more  good  !  She  's  practical,  and  she  knows 
just  how  to  help  people  that  want  to  help  themselves  : 
poor  girls,  you  know,  trying  to  learn  things,  and  get 
into  occupations.  And  so  rectangular  she  is  \  " 

Miss  Kingsbury  ran  off,  professing  an  instant  and 
pressing  duty.  "  I  'm  coming  to  see  you  very  soon. 
Good-bye,  Helen  dear  \  You  know  how  I  feel  for 
you,"  she  added  tenderly. 

Many  other  people,  returning  to  town,  looked 
Helen  up,  and  left  cards,  and  messages  of  friendly 
interest.  She  did  not  see  any  one  that  she  could 
help  seeing;  she  was  doubly  exiled  by  her  bereave 
ment  and  her  poverty  from  the  gay  and  prosperous 
world  they  belonged  to  ;  she  knew  that  they  were 
kind,  and  meant  well,  but  she  knew  that  hencefor 
ward  she  could  have  few  interests  in  common  with 


254  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

them.  She  was  happiest  when  she  was  quite  alone 
with  her  sorrow  and  with  her  love,  which  seemed  to 
have  sprung  from  it,  and  to  be  hallowed  by  it.  Their 
transmutation  gave  her  memories  and  her  hopes  a 
common  sweetness,  which  was  sometimes  very 
strange ;  it  seemed  as  if  Robert  were  present  with 
her  when  she  thought  of  her  father,  and  that  her 
father  came  to  share  all  her  thoughts  of  Robert. 

Her  old  life  had  otherwise  almost  wholly  dropped 
away  from  her.  After  her  return  from  Beverley,  Mar 
garet  came  often  to  see  her,  but  the  visits  were  a 
trial  to  Helen ;  and  perhaps  Margaret  saw  this,  for  she 
came  at  longer  and  longer  intervals,  and  at  last  came 
no  more.  Helen  supposed  that  she  had  taken  a  place, 
but  waited  patiently  till  she  should  reappear. 

She  spent  a  great  part  of  each  day  in  writing  to 
Robert  and  thinking  about  him,  and '  trying  to  con 
trive  their  common  future,  and  she  made  over  all 
her  bonnets  and  dresses.  She  saved  a  good  deal  of 
money  by  not  buying  anything  new  for  the  winter, 
and  after  her  benefaction  to  Mrs.  Sullivan,  she  found 
that  even  with  these  economies,  she  had  nothing  to 
buy  spring  dresses.  But  that  mattered  very  little ; 
she  had  not  cared,  after  she  first  put  on  black,  to 
mark  the  degrees  of  mourning  punctiliously;  she  had 
always  dressed  quietly,  and  now  she  could  wear 
what  she  wore  last  year  without  treason  to  her  grief. 
The  trouble  was  that  she  would  soon  need  money 
for  other  things,  before  any  interest  would  be  due 
from  the  money  in  Mr.  Hibbard's  hands,  and  she 
spent  several  days  in  trying  to  put  into  dignified 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  255 

and  self-respectful  terms  the  demand  she  must  make 
upon  him  for  part  of  her  capital.  She  felt  rather 
silly  about  it,  and  the  longing  to  do  something  to 
earn  a  little  money  for  herself  revived.  At  the 
bottom  of  her  heart  was  the  expectation,  always 
disowned  and  silenced,  that  Robert  would  somehow 
soon  return;  she  had  told  Mrs.  Butler  that  she 
knew  he  would  come  back  as  soon  as  he  got  her 
letter;  but  after  the  first  keen  pang  of  disappoint 
ment  and  surprise  with  which  she  realised  that  he 
could  not  at  once  ask  leave  of  absence,  or  resign 
without  a  sort  of  ignominy,  she  heroically  accepted 
the  fact  of  a  prolonged  separation.  She  had  caused 
it,  she  said  to  herself,  and  she  must  bear  it;  she 
must  do  everything  she  could  to  help  him  bear  it. 
She  idealised  him  in  his  devotion  to  duty,  and 
worshipped  him  as  if  he  had  been  the  first  man  to 
practise  it.  She  was  more  than  ever  determined 
not  to  be  a  burden  to  him  in  any  way ;  she  deter 
mined  to  be  a  help  to  him,  and  she  had  planned  a 
pretty  scene  in  which  she  brought  out  a  little  hoard 
of  earnings,  in  addition  to  her  five  thousand  dollars, 
and  put  them  into  Robert's  hand  the  day  after  their 
marriage.  It  would  be  doubly  sweet  to  toil  for 
Robert ;  in  the  meantime  it  was  sweet  to  dream  for 
him ;  and  she  had  not  yet  decided  how  the  sum  she 
intended  to  bestow  upon  him  was  to  be  earned, 
when  she  found  herself  obliged  to  borrow  of  the 
future  rather  than  able  to  lend  to  it.  But  she 
resolved  all  the  more  severely  to  replace  with  in 
terest  what  she  borrowed;  she  would  not  leave  a 


256  A  WOMAN'S    REASON. 

stone  unturned ;  and  she  forced  herself,  in  going  to 
Mr.  Hibbard's  office,  to  pass  the  store  where  she 
had  left  her  painted  vases  on  sale  six  months  before. 
She  said  to  herself  that  they  would  be  all  in  the 
window  still ;  but  when  she  dared  to  lift  her  eyes 
to  it  there  were  none.  Then  she  said  that  they 
must  have  been  taken  out,  and  stuck  away  in  some 
corner  as  too  hopelessly  ugly  and  unsaleable. 

The  proprietor  of  the  store  came  forward  with 
a  smile  of  recognition,  and  of  something  more. 
"  This  is  really  a  coincidence,"  he  said.  "  We  have 
just  sold  your  vases,  and  I  was  beginning  to  wonder 
where  I  should  send  you  the  money;  I  find  there 
is  no  address  on  the  card  you  gave  me." 

He  filliped  her  card  with  one  hand  against  the 
other,  and  looked  at  her  with  friendly  pleasure, 
wiiile  she  stayed  herself  against  a  show-case  with 
a  faintness  which  he  could  not  see. 

"  Sold  them  ! "  she  whispered. 

"Yes,  all  three.  Mr.  Trufitt  was  looking  at 
them  yesterday,  and  asked  me  who  did  them.  This 
morning  he  called  and  took  them." 

"  How  dared  he  ] "  cried  Helen  in  a  tumult  of 
indignation,  none  the  less  appalling  because  wholly 
unintelligible  to  the  person  of  whom  she  made  the 
demand.  At  the  mere  name  of  Trufitt  a  series  of 
I  odious  facts  had  flashed  without  sequence  into  her 
thought :  his  obtuse  persistence  in  love ;  his  bald 
ness ;  his  stinginess;  the  fit  of  his  pantaloons;  his 
..  spiritual  aridity,  and  his  physical  knobbiness.  She 
hardly  knew  for  which  of  his  qualities  she  disliked 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  257 

him  the  most,  but  she  recognised  with  perhaps 
superior  disdain  that  after  learning  that  the  vases 
were  her  work,  he  had  turned  over  for  a  whole  day 
in  his  frugal  mind  the  question  of  buying  them. 
After  presuming  to  think  of  owning  her  vases,  he 
had  also  presumed  to  hesitate  !  It  was  intolerable. 

"What  right — "  she  began  on  the  innocent 
means  of  the  offence,  but  corrected  herself  so  far  as  to 
ask  instead,  "  IVTiy  did  you  tell  him  who  did  them  1" 

"Really,"  said  her  victim,  with  just  pique,  "  I  saw 
no  reason  why  I  shouldn't.  You  gave  me  no  charges 
on  that  point,  and  I  gave  the  matter  no  reflection. 
I  seized  the  first  chance  that  offered  to  sell  them 
for  you."  He  looked  hurt  and  vexed;  perhaps  he 
had  made  his  little  romance  about  serving  this  very 
pretty  young  lady  in  her  trouble  and  need. 

Helen  would  not  consider  his  kindness;  in  her 
own  vexation  she  continued  to  treat  him  de  haul  en 
has.  "I  can't  allow  him  to  keep  my  vases,"  she 
said.  "  You  must  send  for  them." 

"The  vases  were  on  sale,"  returned  the  proprietor, 
"  and  I  sold  them  in  good  faith.  I  can't  ask  them 
back." 

"/  will  ask  them  back,"  said  Helen  grandly. 
"Good-morning."  When  she  put  her  hand  on  the 
bell-pull  at  Mrs.  Hewitt's,  she  remembered  that  the 
shopman  had  not  given  her  the  money  for  her  vases, 
and  that  she  had  again  left  him  without  her  address. 
This  was  some  satisfaction,  but  it  was  not  enough : 
she  would  not  rest  till  she  had  her  vases  back  again, 
and  had  broken*  them  into  a  thousand  pieces. 
R 


258  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

But  she  found  that  the  first  thing  she  must  do  was 
to  write  to  the  people  who  had  sold  them,  and 
apologise  for  the  strange  return  she  had  made  for 
the  interest  they  had  taken  in  her,  recognising  the 
justice  of  their  position  and  the  absurdity  of  her 
own.  It  was  not  an  easy  note  to  write,  but  she 
contrived  it  at  last,  and  that  gave  her  courage  to 
think  how  she  should  get  her  vases  back  from  Mr. 
Trufitt,  who  had  bought  them,  and  had  certainly  a 
right  to  keep  them.  She  knew  why  he  had  bought 
them,  and  this  enraged  her,  but  it  did  not  help  her ; 
she  felt  that  it  would  be  putting  herself  in  an  asking 
attitude,  however  imperiously  she  demanded  them 
again.  If  he  yielded,  it  would  be  in  grace  to  her ; 
and  he  might  refuse — very  likely  he  would  refuse. 
She  had  not  decided  in  her  own  mind  what  she 
should  do  in  this  event,  when  she  received  a  reply 
from  Messrs.  Pout  &  Lumley,  enclosing  Mr.  Trufitt's 
money  for  her  vases,  less  their  commission.  Messrs. 
Pout  &  Lumley  regretted  that  their  Mr.  Lumley  had 
not  clearly  understood  Miss  Harkness's  wishes  in 
regard  to  the  vases  she  had  left  with  them ;  but 
finding  themselves  unable  to  ask  their  return  from 
the  gentleman  who  purchased  them,  they  had  no 
course  open  to  them  but  to  send  her  the  money  for 
them. 

Helen  saw  that  she  must  have  written  her  address 
at  the  top  of  her  letter  of  apology,  and  that  she  must 
have  seemed  to  them  to  have  repented  of  her  mag 
nificent  behaviour  on  another  ground,  and  to  have 
tacitly  asked  for  the  money. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  259 

She  broke  into  a  laugh  at  the  hopeless  complica 
tion. 

"  Keally,"  she  mused,  "  I  don't  know  whether  I  'd 
better  be  put  into  the  Home  for  Little  Wanderers 
or  into  the  Insane  Hospital,"  and  for  the  present 
there  seemed  no  safety  but  in  entire  inaction.  She 
was  so  much  abashed  at  the  result  of  her  yester 
day's  work,  that  she  remained  with  Messrs.  Pout  & 
Lumley's  letter  in  her  hand,  wondering  when  she 
should  have  courage  to  go  out  again  and  renew  her 
attempt  to  see  Mr.  Hibbard.  At  first  she  thought 
she  would  write  to  him,  but  there  seemed  something 
fatal  about  her  writing  to  people  on  business,  and 
she  hesitated.  It  was  impossible  to  use  this  money 
of  Mr.  Trufitt's ;  she  was  quite  clear  as  to  that, 
and,  with  various  little  expenses,  her  money  had 
dwindled  to  less  than  three  dollars  since  her  inter 
view  with  Mrs.  Sullivan.  She  let  the  morning  slip 
away  in  her  irresolution,  and  then  she  decided  to 
put  the  whole  affair  oft'  till  the  next  day.  She  felt 
a  comfort  in  the  decision,  merely  as  a  decision, 
and  she  began  to  enjoy  something  like  the  peace  of 
mind  which  moral  strength  brings.  Perhaps  the 
weather  had  something  to  do  with  her  willingness 
to  postpone  any  duty  that  must  take  her  out  of 
doors;  it  was  a  day  that  would  scarcely  have  invited 
her  to  an  errand  of  pleasure.  For  almost  a  week  the 
weather  had  been  relenting,  and  the  warmth  of 
yesterday  had  brought  a  tinge  of  life  to  the  bare 
slopes  of  the  Common,  where  for  three  months  past 
the  monumental  dumpings  of  the  icy  streets  had 


260  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

dismally  accumulated  ;  and  along  the  base  of  these 
heaps,  a  thin  adventurous  verdure  showed  itself, 
like  that  hardy  vegetation  which  skirts  the  snow- 
line  on  the  Alps.  As  Helen  walked  across  the 
planking  on  her  way  to  Mr.  Hibbard's  office,  she 
had  heard  a  blue-bird  in  the  blue  soft  air  high 
through  the  naked  boughs  of  the  elms,  making 
querulous  inquiry  for  the  spring ;  and  there  had 
seemed  a  vernal  respite  even  in  the  exasperation  of 
the  English  sparrows.  The  frozen  year,  in  fact,  was 
awaking  to  consciousness,  with  secret  pangs  of 
resuscitation  that  now  declared  themselves  in  an 
easterly  storm  of  peculiar  spitefulness,  driving 
against  the  umbrellas,  which  she  saw  ascending  the 
narrow  hillside  street,  in  gusts  that  were  filled  from 
moment  to  moment  with  sleet  and  rain  and  snow. 

In  the  little  grate  in  her  room  the  anthracite  had 
thrown  off  its  first  gaseous  malice,  and  now  lay  a 
core  of  brownish- red  under  a  soft,  lurid  blur  of  flame; 
and  she  stood  before  it  thinking  to  herself  that, 
rather  than  go  out  in  that  weather,  she  would  spend 
some  of  Mr.  Trufitt's  money,  as  she  called  it,  and 
smiling  faintly  at  the  demoralisation  which  had 
succeeded  her  heroics,  when  some  one  rapped  at  her 
door.  She  turned  away  from  the  fire,  where  she  had 
stood  smoothing  the  front  of  her  dress  in  the  warmth, 
with  a  dreamy  eye  on  the  storm  outside,  and  opened 
the  door  rather  resentfully.  Mrs.  Hewitt  was  there 
with  a  card  in  her  hand,  which  she  had  apparently 
preferred  to  bring  in  person,  rather  than  send  up  by 
the  general  housework  girl.  Before  she  gave  Helen 


A  WOMAN'S   REASON.  261 

the  card,  she  said,  with  a  studied  indifference  of 
manner  that  might  well  have  invited  confidence — 

"  I  heard  him  askin'  for  you,  and  I  showed  him 
into  the  parlour  on  the  second  floor,  till  I  could  find 
out  whether  you  wanted  to  see  company." 

Mrs.  Hewitt  made  her  own  inferences  from  the 
flush  and  then  the  pallor  with  which  Helen  received 
the  card;  and  while  Helen  stood  staring  at  it,  she 
added  suggestively,  "Seemed  to  have  some  kind  of  a 
passel,  or  something,  't  he  brought  with  him  in  the 
carriage." 

"Oh!"  said  Helen,  as  if  this  idle  detail  had 
clinched  the  matter,  "then  will  you  tell  him,  please, 
that  I  '11  be  down  in  a  minute." 

She  hastily  made  a  woman's  imperceptible  changes 
of  hair  and  ribbon,  and  descended  to  the  parlour, 
with  her  line  of  behaviour  distinctly  drawn  in  her 
mind.  After  a  first  impulse  to  refuse  to  see  her 
visitor,  and  then  a  full  recognition  of  the  stupidity 
of  such  a  thing,  she  saw  that  she  must  be  frankly 
cordial.  Mrs.  Hewitt  had  hospitably  put  a  match  to 
the  soft-coal  fire  laid  in  the  grate,  and  it  was  now 
lustily  snapping  in  the  chilly  air  of  the  parlour ;  but 
Lord  Eainford  was  not  standing  before  it.  He  stood 
with  his  back  to  the  door,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
and  his  overcoat  on,  looking  out  into  the  storm,  whose 
national  peculiarities  might  well  have  interested  him ; 
he  turned  when  Helen  came  in,  and  she  greeted  him 
with  a  welcome  which  she  felt  must  have  the  same 
effect  of  being  newly-kindled  as  the  fire  in  the  grate. 
He  did  not  seem  to  notice  this,  but  began  a  huddled 


262  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

and  confused  explanation  of  his  presence,  as  if  it 
ought  to  be  accounted  for  and  justified  upon  special 
grounds.  Helen  pulled  the  wrap  she  had  flung  on 
tightly  round  her,  and  concealing  the  little  shiver 
that  the  cold  air  struck  through  her,  asked  him  to 
sit  down. 

"The  fact  is,"  he  said,  "that  I  was  anxious  to 
put  this  little  parcel  into  your  own  hands,  Miss 
Harkness,  and  to  make  sure  that  it  had  reached  you 
in  safety."  He  gave  her  the  package  he  had  been 
holding,  and  then  offered  to  relieve  her  of  it. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Helen,  ignoring  it  as  well 
as  she  could,  while  refusing  to  give  it  up.  She  had 
gathered  from  the  fact  that  Lord  Rainford  would 
not  have  felt  authorised  to  present  himself  to  her  at 
that  moment,  if  he  had  not  this  commission  from  the 
Rays,  that  the  Rays  had  sent  her  the  parcel  by  him, 
and  she  began  to  unravel  the  maze,  in  which  he  was 
involving  them  both,  by  that  clew.  There  had  been 
something  in  what  he  said  about  London,  and  Nice, 
and  Rome,  and  Alexandria;  but  whether  he  had 
been  with  her  friends  at  any  or  all  of  these  points, 
she  had  not  made  out. 

"Where  did  you  see  the  Rays  last  ?"  she  asked. 
"  Were  the  Butlers  with  them,  or — 

Lord  Rainford  laughed.  "  Why,  the  fact  is,"  he 
exclaimed,  "  I  haven't  seen  them  at  all !  They  made 
no  stop  in  England,  through  some  change  of  plans." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Helen. 

"  And  later,  I  gave  up  my  winter  in  Egypt.  I 
found  that  I  couldn't  go  up  the  Nile,  and  get  back 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  263 

in  time, — in  time  for  the  visit  I  had  intended  to 
make  to  America ;  and — and  I  had  decided  to  come 
to  America,  and — so  I  came  ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen,  a  little  dazed  still.  She 
added,  to  gain  time  for  reflection  rather  than  to 
seek  information,  "And  you  are  fond  of  the  Atlantic 
in  the  middle  of  March  1 " 

"  It  wasn't  so  bad.  We 'd  a  very  good  passage.  I 
found  myself  so  well  here,  last  year,  that  I  've  been 
impatient  ever  since  to  come  back." 

"  I  'm  glad  America  agrees  with  you,"  returned 
Helen  vaguely. 

"Why,  I'm  not  here  for  my  health,  exactly," 
said  Lord  Rainford.  "  I  'd  some  other  objects,  and 
Mr.  Ray  asked  me  to  bring  the  little  box  from  his 
wife  for  you." 

"  0  yes,  I  understand  !  They  sent  it  to  you 
from  Egypt." 

"  Precisely.  I  assure  you  it  wasn't  an  easy 
matter  to  get  it  through  your  Custom  House  un 
opened." 

({  How  did  you  manage  1  By  bribery  and  corrup 
tion]" 

"  No.  I  won't  say  I  wasn't  tempted  to  try  it. 
But  I  don't  altogether  like  that  sort  of  thing  even  in 
countries  where  they  naturally  expect  it;  and  I 
couldn't  feel  that  the  inspector  whose  hands  I  fell 
into  did  quite  expect  it.  I  told  him  that  it  con 
tained  a  present  from  one  lady  to  another,  and  that 
I  would  rather  deliver  it  unopened,  if  he  could  trust 
me  to  come  back  and  pay  the  duty  in  case  it  proved 


264  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

to  be  anything  subject  to  duty.  I  gave  him  my 
card  and  address,  and  I  did  go  so  far  as  to  offer 
to  deposit  a  sum  of  money  with  him  as  surety." 

"  How  very,  very  kind  of  you  !"  cried  Helen,  begin 
ning  to  be  charmed. 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,"  said  Lord  Rainford,  colouring  a 
little.  "  I  merely  mentioned  it  because  it  led  up  to 
something  that  interested  me.  He  looked  at  my 
card,  and  then  he  looked  at  me,  and  said,  '  That  it 
wasn't  necessary  between  gentlemen!'" 

Helen  laughed  at  the  man's  diverting  assumption 
of  a  community  of  feeling  with  Lord  Rainford. 
"  You  must  have  been  edified,"  she  said,  "  with  such 
an  early  example  of  American  equality." 

Lord  Rainford  looked  rather  mystified  and  a  little 
troubled.  "  I  don't  know.  I  rather  liked  it,  I  believe," 
he  said  tentatively ;  as  one  does  who  has  not  been 
taken  in  quite  the  way  he  expected. 

"You  are  easily  pleased,"  cried  Helen;  and  he 
seemed  still  more  perplexed. 

But  as  if  he  set  these  speeches  down  finally  to 
some  ironical  intention  in  her,  he  went  on  :  "  He 
said  I  could  *  take  the  box  along/  and  then  he 
looked  at  the  address  on  it,  and  said,  '  Oh,  't  's  all 
right!  I  know  Miss  Harkness.'" 

"  Who  in  the  world  could  it  have  been  ?"  wondered 
Helen.  "  I  never  dreamt  that  I  had  a  friend  at 
court — or  the  Custom-House." 

Lord  Rainford  took  out  his  pocket-book,  and,  to 
do  this,  he  had  to  unbutton  his  overcoat.  "  Won't 
you  lay  off  your  coat1? "asked  Helen.  "I  believe 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  265 

we  shall  not  freeze  to  death  here,  now.  The  fire  is 
really  making  an  impression." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  obeying.  "  He  gave  me  his 
card.  I  have  it  here  somewhere.  Ah,  here  it  is ! " 

Helen  received  it  and  gazed  at  the  name.  "  No!" 
she  said,  returning  it  with  a  shake  of  the  head, 
"it  doesn't  throw  any  light  on  my  acquaintance,  and 
I  don't  exactly  understand  it." 

"  Perhaps  it  was  some  other  lady  of  the  same 
name." 

"  Perhaps.  But  I  haven't  asked  you  yet  when 
you  arrived ;  and  that  ought  to  have  been  the  first 
question." 

He  seemed  willing  to  evade  it ;  but  he  said  gravely 
that  he  had  arrived  that  morning.  "  The  fact  is," 
he  added,  "  I  had  them  send  the  luggage  to  the  hotel, 
and  I — took  the  liberty  of  driving  directly  here." 

"  Why,  this  is  zeal  in  stewardship  ! "  cried  Helen. 
She  felt  a  girl's  thrill  of  pleasure  in  it.  To  see  Lord 
Rainford  was  like  meeting  an  old  friend  ;  she  had 
parted  from  the  Eays  and  Butlers  long  since  he  had ; 
but  his  coming  on  an  errand  from  them  seemed  like 
news  from  them,  and  she  found  herself  at  home  with 
him,  and  truly  touched  by  his  kindness.  She  had 
been  too  little  abroad  to  consider  whether  she  was 
behaving  like  an  English  girl  under  the  circum 
stances,  and  she  ended  by  behaving  like  an  American 
girl.  "  Now,  Lord  Rainford,"  she  said,  "  I'm  going 
to  do  all  I  can  to  reward  you,  and  if  you  were  a 
woman  you  would  feel  very  lavishly  rewarded ;  I  'm 
going  to  open  this  box  at  once  in  your  presence." 


266  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  I  'm  sure  you  're  very  good,"  said  Lord  Rainford. 

She  put  the  box  on  a  little  table  near  them, 
and  "I  hope  it  isn't  the  kind  that  opens  with  a 
screw-driver,"  she  continued,  breaking  the  line  of 
barbaric  seals  which  held  the  edge  of  the  paper 
covering,  and  then  coming  to  a  second  wrapper  tied 
with  an  oriental  cord  of  silk,  for  which  she  required 
the  aid  of  Lord  Rainford's  penknife.  "  What  a 
pity  to  break  and  cut  such  things  ! "  she  sighed. 

"Why,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  young  man,  not 
feeling  the  occidental  strangeness  to  which  the  paper 
and  the  cord  were  poetry.  "It's  the  way  they  put 
things  up,  there.  I  dare  say  their  dragoman  had  it 
done  at  a  bazaar." 

"  Their  dragoman  !  At  a  bazaar!"  cried  Helen, 
and  now  he  dimly  sympathised  with  her  mood, 
and  said,  "0  yes!  yes!"  while  she  tore  away 
wrapper  after  wrapper,  vaguely  fragrant  of  musk 
or  sandal,  and  came  at  last  to  a  box,  inlaid  with 
mother-of-pearl  in  the  Persian  fancy.  She  opened 
this,  and  found,  under  a  note  from  Marian  Ray,  a 
set  of  gold  jewelry, — ear-rings,  bracelets  and  neck 
lace  rich  in  the  colour  of  the  unalloyed  metal,  and 
fascinating  in  their  fantastic  naivett  of  design ;  as 
old  as  man,  as  young  as  childhood. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Lord  Rainford,  smiling  back  her 
rapture  in  the  trinkets.  "  Those  goldsmith's  things. 
They  're  very  pretty.  And  it 's  amusing  to  see  those 
fellows  work.  They  set  up  their  little  forge  in  the 
street  before  their  doors,  and  make  the  things  you  Ve 
ordered  while  you're  waiting." 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  267 

"  And  the  high,  white  house-walls,  and  the  yellow 
sun,  and  the  purple  shadows  all  round  them  ?"  cried 
Helen,  dangling  the  necklace  from  her  fingers. 

"  Well — ah — yes ;  you  're  quite  right,"  said  Lord 
Rainford.  But  he  added  conscientiously,  "  There 
isn't  much  sun,  you  know.  The  street  is  very 
narrow;  and  I  don't  know  about  the  walls  being 
white;  they're  apt  to  be  coloured." 

"Oh !"  deeply  sighed  the  girl,  as  she  dropped  the 
pretty  things  back  into  their  box.  "  Marian  has  cer 
tainly  outdone  herself,"  she  said,  shutting  the  lid. 
She  re-opened  it,  and  took  out  the  necklace  again, 
and  one  by  one  the  bracelets  and  the  ear-rings,  and 
stood  absently  regarding  them,  held  a  little  way  off, 
with  her  head  on  one  side.  She  was  thinking  of  the 
night  before  her  father  died,  when  she  put  on  that 
silver  filigree  of  Robert's,  and  she  had  forgotten  the 
young  man  before  her.  He  made  a  little  movement 
that  recalled  her  to  herself.  "  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon," 
she  said  softly.  He  had  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  she 
saw  that  he  had  taken  up  his  overcoat.  "  Must  you 
go  1  •  I  can  never  thank  you  enough  for  all  the  trouble 
you  have  taken."  She  stopped,  for  she  had  a  sudden 
difficulty.  It  seemed  savagely  inhospitable,  after 
what  Lord  Rainford  had  done,  in  the  way  he  had 
done  it,  not  to  attempt  some  sort  of  return.  But 
she  felt  sure  he  mjist  see  at  a  glance  that  she  was  not 
in  her  own  house :  the  bare  spectacularity  of  the  keep 
ing  ;  the  meagre  decoration  of  the  mantelpiece  and 
whatnot ;  the  second-hand  brown  plush  furniture ;  the 
fire,  burning  on  the  hearth,  as  in  a  scene  set  for  some 


268  A   WOMAN'S   REASON. 

home  of  virtuous  poverty  on  the  stage,  must  all  be 
eloquent  of  a  boarding-house,  even  to  unpractised 
eyes ;  and  Helen  was  in  doubt  what  she  ought  to  do 
under  all  the  circumstances.  She  decided  upon  a  bold, 
indefinite  course,  and  asserted  that  they  would  see 
each  other  again  before  he  left  Boston. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said.  But  he  did  not  go.  He 
looked  vaguely  round  the  room. 

"  Your  umbrella  1 "  she  suggested,  joining  actively 
in  the  search. 

"  Ah,  I  don't  think  I  brought  one,"  he  said 
speciously. 

When  he  was  gone,  Helen  put  on  the  trinkets, 
and  found  them  very  becoming,  though,  as  she 
frankly  owned  to  her  reflection  in  the  glass,  a  dark 
girl  would  have  carried  them  off  better.  "  That 
comes,"  she  mused,  "from  Marian's  want  of  feeling 
for  colour.  I'm  sure  she  chose  them."  She  smiled 
a  little  superiority  at  the  mirrored  face,  and  then 
she  started  away  from  it  in  dismay.  Of  course  Lord 
Rainford  had  hesitated  in  that  way,  because  he 
promised  the  Customs'  officer  to  come  back  and  pay 
duty»on  the  box ;  and  she  had  not  offered  to  let  him 
take  it,  and  he  could  not  ask  for  it.  There  seemed 
no  end  to  this  day's  contretemps.  He  had  not  given 
her  his  address,  and  there  was  no  telling,  after  that 
sort  of  parting,  when  she  should  see  him  again,  if 
she  ever  saw  him  again.  She  had  placed  him  in  a 
cruelly  embarrassing  position,  for  he  had  given  his 
card  to  that  Mr.  Kimball.  The  name  was  inspira 
tion;  she  could  at  least  go  to  the  Custom-House, 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  269 

and  pay  the  duty  herself,  and  trust  to  some  future 
chance  of  telling  Lord  Rainford  that  she  had  saved 
his  honour  with  Mr.  Kimball.  Kimball !  She  only 
wondered  that  she  should  have  remembered  the 
name. 

She  had  no  idea  where  the  Custom-House  was,  but 
she  wrapped  herself  against  the  storm,  and  took 
a  carriage  at  the  nearest  hack-stand.  The  janitor 
and  messengers,  wliOj  passed  her  from  one  to  another 
in  the  Custom-House,  were  of  opinion  that  Mr.  Kim 
ball  was  on  duty  in  East  Boston,  but  the  last  who 
asserted  this  immediately  added,  "  Oh,  here  he  is 
now  !"  and  called  after  a  figure  retreating  down  a 
corridor,  "Kimball!  Here!  You're  wanted!"  and 
Helen  found  herself,  box  in  hand,  confronted  with 
her  old  friend,  the  policeman. 

"  Why,  is  it  you?"  she  cried,  as  joyously  as  if  she 
had  met  him  in  some  foreign  land. 

"  Well,  I  thought  it  must  be  you,"  he  said,  with 
the  half-shy,  halfjocose  respect  of  that  sort  of 
Americans  in  tnlTpresence  of  a  fashionable  woman. 
It  amuses  them  to  see  the  women  putting  on  style, 
as  they  would  say ;  but  they  revere  them  as  ladies ! 
all  the  same.  Kimball  touched  his  hat,  and  then 
pushed  it  back  on  his  head  in  token  of  standing  un 
covered  while  they  talked. 

Helen  could  not  wait  till  she  had  transacted  her 
own  business  before  she  said,  "But  I  thought  you 
were  a  policeman  !" 

"  Well,  so~T^as  the  last  time  I  saw  you,"  returned 
Kimball.  u  I  left  the  force  about  two  months  ago. 


270  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Got  kind  of  sick  of  it  myself,  and  my  wife  was  always 
in  a  tew  about  the  danger,  and  bein'  out  so  much 
nights,  and  the  new  collector  was  a  friend  of  mine, 
and  he  gave  me  this  place,"  said  Kimball  briefly, 
putting  the  case  into  Helen's  hands.  "  That  fellow 
behave  himself  after  that  ? " 

"  0  yes,"  answered  Helen,  knowing  that  Kimball 
meant  the  hackman  whom  he  had  rebuked  in  her 
behalf;  "he  was  very  civil." 

"I  thought  I  could  fetch  him,"  said  Kimball.  "I 
don't  know  as  anything,  while  I  was  on  the  force, 
done  me  so  much  good  as  a  chance  like  that  now  and 
then."  He  dropped  his  eyes  suggestively  to  the  box 
in  Helen's  hands ;  but  he  did  not  otherwise  manifest 
any  consciousness  of  it,  and  he  left  Helen  to  take  her 
own  time  to  say  how  glad  she  was  to  see  him  again, 
and  how  grateful  she  had  always  been  to  him. 
When  she  arrived,  in  due  course,  at  the  box,  he 
merely  permitted  himself  a  dry  smile.  "I  told  him 
I  knew  you,"  and  this  time  Helen  understood  Lord 
Rainford,  and  not  the  hackman.  "  I  knew  it  would 
be  all  right." 

"It  was  very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Kimball,  and  it's 
only  a  chance  that  it  wasn't  all  wrong.  Lord  Rain- 
ford  told  me  all  about  it,  and  I  forgot  to  let  him  have 
the  box  to  bring  back  to  you  till  after  he  had  gone, 
and  then  I  hurried  off  with  it  myself,  at  once.  I 
couldn't  endure  that  you  should  think  for  a  moment 
he  hadn't  kept  his  word." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Kimball  sympathetically. 
"Full  of  diamonds'?"  he  asked  jokingly,  as  he 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  271 

received  it  from  her.  He  opened  the  lid,  and  then 
frowned  regretfully  at  the  trinkets.  "  Gold,  do  you 
suppose  1 " 

"0  yes,  they  must  be  gold,"  said  Helen.  "It's 
a  present." 

"  Just  so.  And  of  course  you  don't  know  what 
they  cost.  Well,  now,  I  'm  sorry,  Miss  Harkness," 
said  Kimball,  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh  of  reflection. 
"  I  guess  I  Ve  got  to  have  these  things  valued." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Helen,  with  a  beating  heart, 
at  the  bottom  of  which,  perhaps,  she  accused  the 
punctilious  folly  of  forcing  the  jewels  to  official 
knowledge.  She  had  her  feminine  limitations  of 
conscience  in  regard  to  smuggling,  and  did  not  see 
why  it  could  be  wrong  to  bring  in  dutiable  goods  if 
the  Customs'  officers  did  not  know  it ;  she  had  come 
out  of  regard  to  Lord  Rainford,  and  not  at  all  from 
tenderness  for  the  public  revenue ;  and  she  had  a 
sort  of  vague  expectation  that  the  Government  would 
politely  decline  to  levy  any  impost  in  recognition  of 
.her  exemplary  integrity.  "You  just  sit  here,"  said 
Kimball,  finding  her  a  chair  which  one  of  the 
messengers  had  temporarily  vacated,  "and  I'll  see 
about  it  for  you.  I  Jll  be  back  in  half  a  minute." 
He  was  gone  much  longer,  and  then  he  returned 
with  an  official  paper  in  his  hand,  and  a  fallen  coun 
tenance.  "  Well,  I  done  everything  I  could,  Miss 
Harkness,"  he  said  in  strong  disgust.  He  was  a  man 
who  had  enjoyed  official  consequence  largely  as  a 
means  of  doing  people  unexpected  favours,  and  he 
was  deeply  mortified  at  the  turn  this  affair  had 


272  A   WOMAN'S   REASON. 

taken.  "  You  Ve  got  to  pay  fourteen  dollars  and 
seventy-five  cents  on  this  box.  I  wouldn't  say  it  to 
every  one,  and  I  shouldn't  want  it  reported,  but  / 
think  it 's  a  regular  swindle." 

"  0  no,"  said  Helen  sweetly,  but  with  a  deep 
inward  bitterness,  and  finding  her  pocket  with  that 
difficulty  which  ladies  seem  always  to  have,  she  found 
her  pocket-book,  and  in  it  two  dollars  and  a  half. 
"  I  shall  have  to  leave  the  box  with  you  and  come 
again,"  she  said  :  after  resolving  to  borrow  Mr. 
Trufitt's  money  for  the  payment  of  possible  but  im 
probable  duties,  she  had  come  away  and  left  it  at 
home  in  the  letter  enclosing  it. 

"No,  take  the  box  along,"  said  Kimball,  measur 
ably  consoled  at  this  unexpected  turn.  "  It 's  just 
the  way  with  my  wife.  Never  knows  how  much 
money  she  takes  with  her,  and  comes  back  with  her 
bank-bills  balled  up  into  little  balls  like  gun-wads, 
and  her  silver  layin'  round  all  over  the  bottom  of 
her  bag — what  there  is  to  lay  round.  Never  gets 
home  'th  more  than  sixty-two  and  a  half  cents.. 
Don't  you  fret,  Miss  Harkness ;  I'll  make  it  all  right, 
and  you  can  make  it  all  right  with  me,  any  time." 

He  would  not  listen  to  Helen's  protests,  but  forced 
the  box  back  into  her  hands,  and  walked  along  the 
corridor  to  the  vestibule  with  her,  largely  waiving 
each  return  of  her  self-reproach  and  gratitude,  and 
at  the  door  resolutely  changing  the  subject,  as 
he  took  a  card  from  his  waistcoat-pocket.  "  Lord 
Bainford !  Curious  chap.  Lord  Rainford !  Don't 
know  as  I  ever  saw  many  lords  before,"  he  said  with 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  273 

Yankee  caution.  "  Don't  know  as  I  ever  saw  any,"  he 
added  with  Yankee  conscientiousness.  He  pondered 
the  card  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  as  if  amused  that  any 
fellow-creature  should  seriously  call  himself  a  lord,  and 
then  broke  out  in  a  sort  of  repentance  :  "  Well,  he's 
a  gentleman,  I  guess.  Had  his  declaration  made  out 
fair  and  square,  and  opened  up  all  his  traps,  first  off, 
like  a  man.  Forced  'em  on  to  your  notice,  as  you  may 
say.  No  hangin'  back  about  him.  Well !"  he  added, 
after  a  final  inspection  of  the  card,  "  it  wa'n't  quite 
regular,  as  you  may  say,  to  let  him  take,  the  box 
along  without  openiri'  it ;  but  a  man  has  some  discre 
tion,  I  suppose  ;  and — well,  the  fact  is,  I  took  a 
fancy  to  the  fellow.  Seemed  kind  of  human,  after 
all." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Kimball,"  cried  Helen,  deeply  enjoying 
the  inspector's  condescension,  but  with  a  sudden 
superficial  terror  at  the  thought  that  she  had  not 
Lord  Rainford's  address,  and  should  not  know  how  to 
inform  him  that  his  word  had  been  kept  for  him, 
"  let  me  see  his  card,  please  !" 

"  Why,  certainly,  take  it  along,"  said  Kimball.  "  Or 
I  don't  know,"  he  added  sheepishly.  "I  thought 
my  wife  might  like  to  see  it — kind  of  a  novelty,  you 
know." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  I  don't  want  to  keep  it,"  said 
Helen,  returning  it  after  a  swift  glance.  "  I  merely 
wanted  to  look  at  it.  Thank  you,  ever  so  much  !" 

When  she  reached  home  she  wrote  two  letters  : 
one  to  Kimball,  enclosing  the  money  he  had  lent  her, 
and  another  to  Lord  Rainford,  telling  him  what  she 


274  A  WOMAN'S   REASON. 

had  done.  She  felt  that  finally  the  whole  affair  was 
very  funny,  and  she  suffered  herself  to  run  into  a 
sprightly  little  account  of  her  adventure,  which  she 
tore  up.  She  wrote  it  all  out  fully  in  the  letter  to 
Robert,  to  which  she  gave  up  the  whole  afternoon ; 
but  to  Lord  Rainford  she  merely  said  that  she 
thought  he  would  have  been  amused  at  Mr.  Kimball's 
remarks.  * 


XIII. 

THE  next  day  Lord  Rainford  came  to  acknowledge 
her  note  in  person,  and  he  excused  himself  for  coming 
rather  early  on  the  ground  of  an  intolerable  im 
patience  to  know  what  Mr.  Kimball  had  said. 

"  Oh,  did  I  promise  to  tell  you  1 ;'  asked  Helen, 
not  well  remembering  just  what  she  had  written. 

"No,  I  can't  say  that  you  did,"  said  he  with  a 
candour  which  she  began  to  see  was  unfailing.  "  Bub 
I  thought,  perhaps,  you  might." 

"  I  'm  not  sure  about  that.  But  I  was  thinking 
that  if  you  were  disappointed  when  you  were  here 
before  not  to  find  any  of  us  aggressively  American, 
you  might  be  consoled  by  studying  Mr.  Kimball ;  he  's 
so  absolutely  and  wholly  American,  that  he  takes 
every  other  condition  of  things  as  a  sort  of  joke." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Lord  Rainford,  "  I  understand. 
I  think  I  observed  something  of  the  sort  in  that 
class  of  people.  But  I  didn't  meet  it  in — society." 
He  looked  at  her  inquiringly,  as  if  he  spoke  under 
correction. 

Helen  laughed.  "  Oh,  society  has  all  been  to 
Europe,  and  has  lost  the  old  American  point  of  view 
— or  thinks  it  has." 


276  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  Thinks  it  has  ? "  he  repeated  with  interest. 

"Why,  I  mean  that,  with  all  that  acquiescence 
which  you  found  so  monotonous(There  wasn't  one  of 
those  people — except  a  very  few  sophisticated  in 
stances — who  looked  at  you  at  all  as  people  in  Euro 
pean  society  would.  You  were  hopelessly  improbable 
to  them,  no  matter  Jiow  hard  they  tried  to  realise 
you,  as  a — noblemanj  Excuse  me  !"  cried  Helen,  ".I 
didn't  intend  to  be  personal ! " 

<:  Oh,  not  at  all,  not  at  all.  It's  very  interesting, 
I  'm  sure.  It 's  quite  a  new  view  of  the  matter.  And 
you—" 

"  Now  you  are  personal !  " 

"  No,  no,  I  don't  mean  that.  Or,  yes,  perhaps  I 
did." 

k  "  Well,  then,  even  I,  although  I  'm  able  to  lecture 
so  clearly  and  dispassionately  about  it,  I  'm  not  sure 
that  I  'm  able  to  take  the  social  state  of  Europe 
seriously,  either." 

"  Really  ?  1^1  didn't  find  you  such  deeply-dyed 
democrats."^ 

£LjWe  're  not — in  .  our  opinions ;  you  found  that 
out ;  nor  in  our  practice,  I  suppose.  But  in  our  tradi 
tions  and —  I've  been  talking  so  bookishly  already — 

"  Oh,  it's  quite  what  they  told  me  to  expect  in 

Boston!  "3 

"  Then  you  won't  mind  my  saying — in  our  environ 
ment,"  said  Helen,  with  a  laugh,  "we  are.  For  in 
stance — and  now  I  'm  going  to  be  horribly  personal — 
as  long  as  we  supposed  that  Mr.  Ray  had  introduced 
you  as  Mr.  Rainford,  you  were  real  enough ;  but  as 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  277 

soon  as  we  found  that  you  were  Lord  Rainford,  you 
vanished  back  into  the  stage-plays  and  the  story 
books." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  very  sorry,"  he  said,  with  an  accent  of 
so  much  earnestness  that  she  laughed  again,  and 
now  with  a  mischievous  pleasure,  which  he  must 
have  perceived  :  for  he  added  more  lightly,  "  It 's 
really  very  uncomfortable,  you  know,  to  be  going 
about  as  a  fictitious  character." 

"You  can't  help  it,  and  we  can't,"  said  Helen. 
"  But  I  suppose  if  you  were  to  live  here  a  very  Jong 
while,  and  were  to  be  very,  very  good,  we  might  begin 
to  believe  a  little  in  your  probability." 

They  talked  of  other  matters,  and  she  let  her 
visitor  go,  with  an  uneasy  misgiving  which  haunted 
her  throughout  the  morning,  and  still  lingered 
about  her  when  Clara  Kingsbury  came  later  in  the 
afternoon  to  beg  her  to  lunch  with  her  th$  next 
day, 

"I  know  you've  not  been  going  out,  but  this  will 
be  an  errand  of  charity.  Last  night  I  picked  up,  of 
all  things  in  the  world,  &  live  lord,  and  before  I 
knew  it,  I  had  asjted  him  to  lunch  with  me,  and  he 
had  accepted.  |^J[  suppose  that  lords  are  lunched 
very  much  like  other  mortals, — if  lords  are  mortal — 
but  really  when  he  told  me  that  he  had  met  you,  I 
was  ready  to  weep  on  the  first  person's  neck  for  joy. 
You  do  know  him,  don't  you  :  Lord  Rainford,  whom 
you  met  last  fall  at  the  Butlers  1 " 

"0  yes,"  said  Helen,  "he  brought  me  a  message 
from  them  yesterday." 


278  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  How  very  odd  ! "  cried  Miss  Kingsbury,  t(  I 
wonder  he  didn't  mention  meeting  you  yester 
day." 

"  He  didn't  mention  going  to  lunch  with  you.  to 
morrow,"  said  Helen  defensively,  betraying  the  fact 
that  she  had  seen  him  since. 

Miss  Kingsbury  ignored  it.  "  Then  it  must  be  his 
English  reticence.  How  droll  they  are  !  I  should 
think  it  would  worry  them  to  keep  things  on  their 
minds  the  way  they  do.  You  must  let  me  send  the 
coupe  for  you  !  Lord  Rainford,  and  Miss  Harkness 
for  the  first  time  in  many  months,  as  the  play-bills 
say  :  really,  for  a  lunch  in  Lent — 

"Oh  !  I  think  you  must  excuse  me,  Clara,"  Helen 
began.  "  You  know  I  can't  meet  people." 

"  I  quite  understand,  dear,"  said  Miss  Kingsbury. 
"  There  are  not  going  to  be  people,  or  I  shouldn't 
have  ventured  to  ask  you.  There  are  only  to  be 
Professor  and  Mrs.  Fraser  :  Lord  Rainford  wanted 
especially  to  talk  over  Aztec  antiquities  with  him, 
and  I  promised  to  get  him  to  come.  But  I  must 
have  some  other  young  lady  besides  myself;  I  can't 
let  it  be  all  Aztecs  and  antiquities.  You  must  come 
to  keep  me  in  countenance,  sitting  up  there  behind 
the  tea-pot  like  a — a — teocallis." 

Helen  laughed,  and  Clara  immediately  kissed  her. 
If  it  were  to  be  such  a  mild  little  affair,  she  felt 
that  she  could  certainly  go  ;  she  could  see  how  Clara 
would  hate  to  seem  to  have  paired  herself  off  with 
Lord  Rainford,  and  she  said,  "  Well,  Clara,  I  will  go  ; 
but  I  believe  that,  so  far  as  Lord  Rainford  is  con- 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  279 

cerned,  I  shall  go  as  an  act  of  penance.  He  was 
here  this  morning  again." 

"  Oh  !"  popped  out  of  Miss  Kingsbury's  mouth. 

"  And  I  'm  afraid  I  said  something  inhospitable 
to  him — something,  at  any  rate,  that  I  'd  like  to  do 
away  the  impression  of." 

"  Oh  !  do  tell  me  what  it  was,  Helen  dear  !  I  'm 
always  saying  such  hideous  things  to  people  ! " 

Helen  explained,  and  Miss  Kingsbury  silently 
reflected.  "  I  suppose  my  joking  about  it  annoyed 
him." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?"  pleaded  Miss  Kingsbury. 

"  He  said  it  was  very  uncomfortable  going  about 
as  a  fictitious  character." 

"  But  you  didn't  make  him  a  fictitious  character, 
Helen  !" 

"  No ;  but  I  can  see  how  he  might  misunder 
stand—" 

"They're  very  sensitive,"  assented  Miss  Kings- 
bury,  with  a  sigh.  "Really,"  she  continued  more 
briskly,  "for  people  who  have  gone  tramping  about 
the  world  ever  since  they  could  walk — and  they 
began  to  walk  very  early — and  crushing  other  people's 
feelings  quite  into  the  mire,  they're  extraordinarily 
sensitive.  One  would  think  that  they  had  always 
behaved  themselves  with  the  utmost  delicacy  and 
consideration,  instead  of  scolding  and  criticising  and 
advising  wherever  they  went." 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen.  "  But  all  that  doesn't  excuse 
me,  if  I  said  too  much." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Miss  Kingsbury,  "  come  and  take 


280  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

some  of  it  back ;  or  all.  Tell  him  that  the  British 
aristocracy  is  the  one  only  solid  and  saving  fact  of 
the  universe  !  Good-bye,  dear  !  Don't  worry  about 
it.  I  daresay  he  was  delighted  ! " 

Helen  was  afterwards  sorry  that  they  had  not 
dressed  a  little  more.  She  was  necessarily  in  mourn 
ing,  and  Lord  Rainford  was  dipped  in  the  gloom  of 
her  crape,  and  of  three  black  silks :  Mrs.  Fraser's 
best  black  silk,  Miss  Kingsbury's  Vermont  aunt's  only 
black  silk,  and  the  black  silk  which  Miss  Kingsbury 
herself  wore,  in  some  mistaken  ideal  of  simplicity. 
Helen  longed  to  laugh,  but  remained  unnaturally 
quiet. 

Perhaps  the  black  silks  were  too  much  for  the 
Aztecs.  Lord  Rainford  had  the  Englishman's  stiff 
ness,  and  Professor  Fraser  had  the  professor's  stiff 
ness  ;  they  seemed  unable  to  get  upon  common 
ground,  or  to  find  each  other's  point  of  view.  They 
became  very  polite  and  deferential,  and  ended  by 
openly  making  nothing  of  each  other.  The  Frasers 
were  obliged  to  go  early,  and  Helen  shortly  after 
wards  made  a  movement  towards  departure. 

Miss  Kingsbury  laid  imploring  hands  on  her. 
"  Don't  go  ! "  she  tragically  breathed.  "  Stay,  and 
try  to  save  the  pieces  ! "  and  Helen  magnanimously 
remained ;  under  the  circumstances  it  would  have 
been  inhuman  to  go.  She  brightened  at  Miss 
Kingsbury's  imploring  appeal ;  and  they  had  a  gay 
afternoon.  When  she  said  at  last  that  now  she 
really  must  go,  she  was  scared  to  find  that  it  was 
half-past  four.  She  hurried  on  her  sack  and  bonnet 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  281 

and  rubbers,  and  when  she  came  down-stairs,  Lord 
Rainford,  of  whom  she  had  deliberately  taken  leave, 
was  there,  hospitably  followed  out  of  the  drawing- 
room  by  Miss  Kingsbury. 

"  I  forgive  your  not  taking  the  coupe","  she  said 
subtly,  seizing  Helen's  hand  for  a  grateful  pressure 
at  parting. 

"  I  much  prefer  to  walk,  I  assure  you,"  said  Helen, 
"  after  being  mewed  up  in  the  house  all  day  yester 
day.  Good-bye." 

Miss  Kingsbury 's  man  opened  the  door,  and  Lord 
Eainford  stood  aside  for  Helen  to  pass  out.  But  he 
hurried  after  her. 

"  If  you  're  walking,  Miss  Harkness,"  he  said,  with 
an  obvious  effort  to  continue  the  light  strain  in  which 
they  had  been  laughing  and  talking,  "I  really  wish 
you'd  let  me  walk  with  you." 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  Helen.  "I -shall  be  very 
glad." 

But  they  walked  away  together  rather  soberly, 
as  people  do  after  a  merry  time  indoors.  There  was 
a  constraint  on  them  both  which  Helen  had  to  make 
a  little  effort  to  break.  Whatever  caused  it  on  his 
part,  on  hers  it  was  remotely  vexation  that  she  had 
allowed  the  afternoon  to  slip  away  without  going  to 
see  Mr.  Hibbard  about  her  money.  She  must  wait 
again  till  the  morning. 

"I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  "that  you  found  Professor 
Fraser  rather  an  unsatisfactory  Aztec." 

"0  no.  Not  at  all!  He's  extremely  well  in 
formed,  I  daresay.  But  we  approach  the  subject 


282  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

from  very  different  points.  He  is  interested  mainly 
in  the  pottery,  as  the  remains  of  an  arrested  indigen 
ous  civilisation ;  and  I,  as  an  amateur  Egyptologist, 
was  rather  hoping  to — ah — hear  something  new 
about  the  monuments — the  architectural  evidences. 
But  the  ground  has  been  pretty  thoroughly  traversed 
in  Mexico,  and  we  can  only  look  for  fresh  results 
now  in  Yucatan  and  Central  America." 

He  hurried  off  the  statement  without  apparent 
interest  in  the  matter,  and  with  something  of  present 
impatience.  The  effect  was  to  make  Helen  laugh  a 
little,  at  which  he  seemed  grateful. 

"I  suppose  you  have  come  over  to  look  up  the 
ground  for  yourself/'  she  began ;  but  he  hastily 
interrupted. 

"  No,  I  can't  say  I  came  for  that,  exactly.  I  can't 
say  I  came  for  that.  I  should  like  extremely  to  see 
those  things  for  myself;  but  I  didn't  come  for 
that." 

Helen  was  amused  at  his  scrupulous  insistence  on 
the  ^  point,  and  had  a  mischievous  temptation  to  ask 
him  just  why  he  had  come,  then ;  but  she  contented 
herself  with  saying,  "  I  always  wonder  that  English 
people  care  to  come  to  America  at  all.  I  'm  afraid 
that  if  we  had  Germany  and  Italy  at  our  doors,  we 
shouldnt  care  to  cross  the  Atlantic  for  a  run  to 
Colorado  and  back." 

"  The  Continent  is  rather  an  old  story  with  us, 
you  know.  Of  course  the  towns  are  a  good  deal 
alike  here,  after  you  leave  Boston,  and  there  is 
nothing  to  see  in  the  usual  sight-seeing  way;  but 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  283 

the  conditions  are  all  new,  and  they  're  interesting ; 
yes,  they  're  interesting.  But  I  can't  say  exactly — 

Helen  felt  a  nervous  inability  to  let  him  define,  as 
he  clearly  intended,  that  it  was  not  exactly  the  new 
conditions  either  that  had  brought  him  to  America, 
and  she  turned  a  smiling  face  from  the  anguish  of 
sincerity  that  was  urging  him  on,  and  looked  about 
her  with  the  hope  that  something  in  their  surround 
ings  would  suggest  escape  for  them  both. 

"I  suppose,"  she  said,  "that  you  know  Boston 
very  well  by  this  time  1 " 

"No,  I  don't  know  it  very  well,"  replied  Lord 
Eainford.  "  But  I  believe  I  know  something  about 
this  quarter  of  it.  This  is  where  your  principal  people 
live — professional  people,  and  large  merchants  f ' 

"All  sorts  of  people  live  everywhere,  now,"  said 
Helen,  with  a  little  touch  of  her  superiority ;  "  and 
I  can't  say  that  Beacon  Street  is  any  better  than 
Commonwealth  Avenue.  Papa  was  in  the  India 
trade,"  she  continued,  "  and  we  lived  just  here  in 
Beacon  Steps."  She  remembered  what  Captain 
Butler  had  said  of  the  India  trade  and  its  splendour, 
and  she  had  a  tender  filial  pride  in  speaking  of  it. 

Lord  Eainford  had  not  caught  the  word.  "In 
trade  1 "  he  repeated. 

"  His  business  was  with  Indian  products  of  all 
sorts,"  Helen  explained. 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Lord  Eainford.  He  walked  on 
k^a  silence  which  Helen  did  not  heed  particularly. 
He  must  have  been  pondering  the  complications  of 
American  society,  through  which  he  was  walking 


284  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

about  the  most  exclusive  quarter  of  Boston  with  the 
daughter  of  a  person  who  had  bartered  beads  and 
whisky  to  the  aborigines  for  peltriesj for,  " Really," 
he  said  at  last,  "  I  didn't  suppose  tliere  were  enough 
of  them  left  in  this  region  to  make  it  worth  any  one's 
while.  But  perhaps  he  carried  on  the  business  at  a 
distance— in  the  West?" 

They  came  to  an  involuntary  pause  together,  in 
which  they  stared  at  each  other.  "  What — do  you 
mean  ]  "  cried  Helen. 

"  Upon  my  word  I  don't  know  whether  I  ought 
to  -say,"  returned  Lord  Rainford. 

"  You  didn't — you  didn't  suppose,"  Helen  con 
tinued,  "that  papa  traded  with  our  Indians?" 
Lord  Rainford's  silence  confessed  his  guilt,  and  she 
added  with  a  severity  which  she  could  not  mitigate, 
"  Papa's  business  was  with  India ;  he  sent  out  ships 
.to  Calcutta ! " 

"  Oh — oh  !  "  said  her  companion.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon." 

Helen  made  a  polite  response,  and  began  to  talk 
of  other  things ;  but  in  her  heart  she  was  aware  of 
not  pardoning  him  in  the  least;  and  she  had  an 
unworthy  satisfaction  in  leaving  him  in  evident 
distress  when  they  parted. 

The  next  morning,  at  the  earliest  permissible 
hour,  Mrs.  Hewitt  brought  her  his  card,  with  a 
confidential  impressiveness  that  vexed  Helen  almost 
to  the  point  of  asking  Mrs.  Hewitt  to  say  that 
Miss  Harkness  was  not  well,  and  begged  to  be 
excused;  but  she  repented  of  the  intention  before 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  285 

it  was  formed,  and  went  down  to  receive  her 
guest. 

She  received  him  coldly,  and  his  manner  confessed 
the  chill  by  an  awkward  constraint  in  the  common 
places  that  passed  before  he  broke  out  abruptly 
with,  "  I  'm  afraid  I  must  have  annoyed  you,  Miss 
Harkness.  I  'm  not  ready — I  don't  suppose  I  Ve 
any  tact  at  all — but  it  would  grieve  me  to  think 
that  I  had  misunderstood  you  yesterday  in  a  way  to 
vex  you." 

"  Oh,  don't  speak  of  it ! "  cried  Helen,  with  the 
generosity  which  his  frankness  evoked.  "  There 
was  never  anything  of  it,  and  now  it's  all  gone." 
She  began  to  laugh  at  the  droll  side  of  his  blunder, 
and  she  said,  "  I  was  afraid  that  I  must  have  seemed 
very  rude  the  other  day,  in  openly  reducing  you 
to  a  fairy  prince." 

"  No,  I  rather  liked  that,"  said  Lord  Rainford. 
"It  interested  me,  and  it  explained  some  things. 
I  'm  sure  people  get  on  better  in  the  end  by  being 
frank." 

"  Oh,"  said  Helen,  "  there  's  nothing  like  frank 
ness,"  and  at  the  same  moment  she  felt  herself  an 
intricate  and  inextricable  coil  of  reservations. 

"  I  think  the  Americans  particularly  like  it,"  he 


"  We  expect  it,"  said  Helen,  with  a  subtlety  which 
he  missed. 

He  went  on  to  say,  with  open  joy  in  the  restora 
tion  of  their  good  understanding :  "  The  distinctions 
you  make  in  regard  to  different  kinds  of  trade  rather 


286  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

puzzle  me.  I  don't  see  why  cotton-spinning  should 
be  any  better  than  shoe-manufacturing  ;  but  I  'm  told 
it  is." 

"  Why,  certainly,"  said  Helen. 

"  But  I  don't  see  the  '  certainly ' ! "  he  protested, 
with  a  laugh. 

"Oh,  but  it  is  ! "  she  explained. 

"  Ah,"  he  returned,  with  the  air  of  desisting, 
"  it 's  my  defective  education,  I  suppose.  But  if 
people  go  into  trade  at  all,  I  don't  see  why  they 
shouldn't  go  into  one  thing  as  well  as  another.  It 
appears  all  the  same  to — us." 

The  little  word  slipped  out ;  and  neither  of  them 
thought  of  it  at  the  time.  He  went  away,  happy 
in  having  made  his  peacgj;  she  parted  from  him 
with  sufficient  cordiality(___and  as  soon  as  he  was 
gone,  this  word  by  which  he  had_jnicpnsciously  dis- 
tinguished  between^Jjienj^and  classed -bar,,  began  to 
rankle  and  to  sting.  When  it  came  to  herself,  she 
had  the  national  inability  to  accept  classification, 
which  seems  such  a  right  and  wise  arrangement  to 
Europeans,  and  whicli_some  Americans  uphold — till 
it  comes  to  themselves.^j 

She  could  not  get  rid  of  her  resentment  by  asking 
herself  what  Lord  Rainford's  opinions  and  prejudices 
Avere  to  her,  and  resolving  not  to  see  him  if  he  came 
again  ;  and  she  was  so  hot  with  it,  when  she  went  out 
in  the  afternoon  to  Mr.  Hibbard's  office  at  last,  that 
she  must  have  seemed  to  the  clerk,  who  told  her  he 
was  not  in,  to  have  some  matter  of  personal  question 
with  the  delinquent  lawyer. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  287 

She  stopped  a  moment  on  her  way  home  at  the 
window  of  a  picture-store,  attracted  by  some  jars  of 
imitation  faience,  and  she  went  in  to  ask  about  them; 
the  sight  of  them  suddenly  revived  her  belief  that 
she  could  still  do  something  of  the  kind,  and  spare 
herself  the  shame  of  encroaching  upon  her  capital. 

A  gentleman  turned  round  from  looking  at  them 
on  the  inside  of  the  window,  and  she  confronted 
Lord  Kainford.  "  Ah,  Miss  Harkness  ! "  he  said. 
'[JVVas  it  you  who  were  spellbound  outside  there  by 
these  disagreeable  shams  1 "  _Js 

His  words  struck  her  new  hopes  dead.  j^They 
are  ghastly, 'line  said,  with  society  hardness.  Then 
Miss  Eoot's  words  came  involuntarily  to  her  lips, 
Gil  pity  the  poor  wretch  that  expects  to  live  by 
painting  and  selling  them."  That  door,  she  felt, 
was  for  ever  closed  against  her,  even  if  she  starved 
on  the  outside.  3  The  shock  brought  the  tears  into 
her  eyes  behind  her  veil,  and  she  remained  staring  at 
the  fictitious  faience  without  seeing  it. 

"Frankly,  now,"  said  Lord  Rainford,  "don't  you 
think  that  all  effort  in  that  direction  is  misdirected, 
and  that  the  work!  was  better  before  people  set 
about jprettify ing  it  so  much?" 

"Frankly,"  said  Helen  hysterically,  "I  don't  be 
lieve  I  like  frankness  as  much  as  you  do." 

He  laughed.  "  If  you  have  ever  decorated  pottery, 
Miss  Harkness,  I  take  it  all  back." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  a  question  of  that,"  said  Helen 
breathlessly.  "It 's  a  question  of  what  else  the  poor 
girl,  who  probably  did  the  things,  shall  turn  to  if  she 


288  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

stops  doing  them."  She  had  a  kind  of  dire  satisfac 
tion  in  dramatising  her  own  desperation;  and  the 
satisfaction  was  not  diminished  by  the  fact  that  these 
ideas  had  come  into  her  head  since  she  had  denounced 
frankness,  to  which  they  had  no  relation  whatever. 
She  had  meant — if  she  meant  anything  by  that 
denunciation — to  punish  him  for  the  tone  of  his  talk 
in  the  morning.  She  had  not  forgotten  his  patri 
cian  us.  But  the  talk  was  now  far  from  that,  and 
he  had  not  been  punished. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  with  feeling  that  she  respected  in 
spite  of  her  resentment,  "  I  should  be  sorry  if  I 
seemed  indifferent  to  that  side  of  the  question.  It 
was  only  that  I  hadn't  thought  of  it." 

"I  didn't  mean  that,"  she  returned,  with  an  aim- 
lessness  from  which  she  thought  to  escape  by  asking, 
"  Is  there  anything  up-stairs  ? " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  a  very  beautiful  picture — I 
fancy  a  very  American  picture." 

"  The  two  things  ought  to  tempt  me,"  said  Helen, 
passing  on  as  if  to  terminate  their  casual  inter 
view. 

She  mounted  the  thickly-carpeted  stairs,  which 
silenced  the  steps  behind  her;  but  she  was  not 
surprised  to  find  the  portikre  held  back  for  her  to 
enter  the  pretty  little  gallery,  or  to  find  Lord  Rain- 
ford  beside  her,  when  she  stood  within.  There  was 
a  gentleman  there  with  his  hat  off,  after  our  fashion 
in  picture-galleries  at  home,  and  two  suburban  ladies 
with  a  multiplicity  of  small  paper  parcels,  in  awe- 
stricken  whisper ;  but  they  all  presently  went  out, 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  289 

and  left  her  alone  with  Lord  Eainford  before  the 
painting. 

A  yellow  light  fell  rich  into  an  open  space  in  the 
primeval  New  England  forest,  and  revealed  the 
tragedy  of  an  arrest  for  witchcraft, — an  old  woman 
haled  away  in  the  distance  by  the  officers,  with  her 
withered  arms  flung  upward  in  prayer  or  impre 
cation  ;  and  in  the  foreground  a  young  girl  cower 
ing  at  the  door  of  the  cabin,  from  which  her  mother 
has  just  been  torn.  The  picture  was  an  intense  ex 
pression  of  the  pathos  of  the  fact,  which  seemed  as 
wholly  unrelated  to  canvas  or  pigment,  in  the  painter's 
poetic  treatment,  as  if  it  were  his  perfect  dream  of 
what  he  had  meant  to  do. 

"Yes!"  said  Helen,  with  a  deep  sigh  of  the 
impassioned  admiration  with  which  she  always 
devoted  her  being  for  the  moment  to  the  book  or 
picture  she  liked. 

"One  of  your  Boston  painters'?"  asked  the 
Englishman. 

"  The  one,"  answered  Helen,  and  she  launched  out 
in  a  fury  of  praise,  while  he  continued  attentive  to 
her^rather  than  to  her  words. 

(^1  suppose  you  can't  understand  how  it  afflicts 
me,"  he  said  finally,  "to  find  any  ofthe  errors  and 
sufferings  of  Europe  repeated  here."  _j^ 

Helen  laughed  as  people  do  at  mysterious  griev 
ances.  "  Why,  no ;  as  far  as  such  things  are 
historical,  I  believe  we  're  rather  proud  of  them. 
They  do  something  to  satisfy  the  taste  for  the 
picturesque,  though  after  all  they  're  such  a  mere 
T 


290  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

morsel  that  we  land  in  Europe  perfectly  raven 
ous." 

"If  they  were  all  historical,  I  shouldn't  mind," 
said  the  young  man.  [^It  was  finding  our  current 
superstitions  accepted  here  that  surprised  and  dis 
appointed  me."  JJ 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  find  any 
imperfections — domestic  or  foreign — in  us  now?" 

"Ah,  you  get  beyond  my  joking  depth  very  soon," 
he  protested.  "  I  told  you  once  that  I  was  a  serious 
person." 

"I  didn't  believe  you  could  be  serious  about  it !" 

"  I  was,  I  assure  you.  (___!  suppose  it  was  my  habit 
of  taking  things  very  seriously  that  put  me  at  odds 
with  matters  at  home,  and  that  puts  me  at  odds 
with  matters  here,  where  I  fancied  that  I  might  be 
rather  more  of  the  regular  order.  "_3 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Helen ;  and  being 
curious,  and  being  fatigued,  she  dropped  into  one  of 
the  chairs  that  the  suburban  ladies  had  vacated. 

"  I  mean  that  this  morning  I  was  trying  to  express 
the  feeling  which  has  made  me  a  sort  of  white  crow 
among  my  own  people,  and  which  doesn't  seem  eyen 
credible  here.  [I  was  very  far  indeed  from  wishing 
to  imply  disrespect  for^any  sort  of  jisef  illness— which 
is  the  only  thing  I  really  respect  in  the  world.  J  Did 
you  understand  me  to  do  so  1 " 

"Not  exactly  that,"  said  Helen,  with  a  reserve 
which  he  must  have  seen  was  as  yet  inexpugnable. 

"  I  daresay  it  was  one  of  the  misfortunes  of  my 
being  a  sickly  boy,  bred  at  home,  apart  from  other 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  291 

boys,  and  indulging  himself  in  all  sorts  of  fancies ;  t 
but  I  used  to  imagine  that  in  America  our  distinc 
tions — criterions — didn't  exist.  When  I  began  to 
know  Americans,  at  home  as  well  as  here,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  they  were  often  rather  more  subser 
vient — more  eager  to  get  on  with  people  of  rank, 
than  Englishmen  even.  I  confess  it  baffled  me,  and 
you  're  the  only  American — if  you  '11  excuse  my  being 
so  personal,  as  you  say — who  has  at  all  explained  it 
to  me.kj,  can  see  now  how  they  may  have  a  romantic  x 
— an  historical — interest  in  knowing  such  people,  and 
that  thev_are  not  merely  tuft-hunters  in  the  ordinary 
sense."  ^ 

Helen  could  not  tell  whether  he  was  speaking  in 
irony  or  in  earnest ;  she  dropped  the  glance  she  was 
lifting  to  his  face,  in  a  little  fear  of  him. 

"  I  daresay  I  've  been  mistaken  about  other 
matters — appearances ;  and  I  'm  vexed  that  I  should 
have  said  something  this  morning  that  I  saw  put 
me  further  than  ever  in  the  wrong  with  you.j^I 
assure  you  that  I  don't  think  better  of  myself  for 
belonging  to  an  order  of  things  that  I  believe  to  be 
founded  and  perpetuated  in  ignorance  and  injustice.} 
I  would  really  rather  have  been  one  of  the  pilgrims 
who  came  over  in  the  May-Blossom — " 

"  Flower,"  said  Helen,  helplessly  correcting  him. 

"Flower — I  beg  your  pardon — than  one  of  the 
robbers  who  came  over  with  the  Conqueror  !  " 

He  seemed  to  think  this  a  prodigious  tribute;  but 
Helen  could  not  even  make  a  murmur  of  grateful 
acceptance.  Those  radical  ic]ftp.s,  jn 


292  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

ridiculous  to  her     she  had 


always  heard  them  laughed  at,  and  she  could  not 
imagine  how  an  Englishman  of  rank  could  entertain 
them,  though  she  had  heard  that  such  Englishmen 
sometimes  did,  for  a  whileA  To  hear  him  talking  in 
that  way  made  him  seem  not  so  much  unnatural  as 
impossible  ;  it  was  so  unexpected  from  him  that  she 
felt  a  little  uneasy,  as  if  he  were  not  quite  in  his  right 
mind  ;  but  she  had  so  far  a  compassion  for  his  mania 
that  she  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  tell  him 
that  he  had  totally  misconceived  her,  and  he  went  on 
to  explain  further. 

"  AnokJ  was  merely  trying  to  say  that  I  thought 
it  oddUn  a  society  where  you  are  all  commoners 
together-^; 

"  Commonersj"  cried  Helen,  in  astonished  recogni 
tion^  of  the  fact. 

He  did  not  heed  this  effect  in  her,  but  went 
on—  "That  there  should  be  any  such  distinctions 
as  ours.  I  ll  go  further,  and  say  that  I  thought  it 
preposterous;  and  the  other  day,  when  I  fell  into 
that  unaccountable  blunder  in  regard  to  the  India 
trade,  I  had  no  such-feeling  as  you  —  as  you— 
might  have  supposed.  Ljf  I  venture  to  speak  of 
something  that  Mr.  Ray  let  drop  in  one  of  his 
letters  about  your  determination  to  trust  to  your 
self  and  your  own  efforts,  rather  than  accept  any 
sort  of  dependence,  it  's  because  I  wish  to  tell  you 
how  much  I  revere  and  —  and  —  honour  it/)  It  only 
endeared  you  to  me  the  more  !  Miss  Harkness  !  " 
he  cried,  while  she  began  to  look  about  her  with  a 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  293 

wild  hope  of  escape,  "  it  was  for  your  sake  that  I 
came  back  ! " 

They  were  quite  alone,  and  if  it  were  to  come  to 
this,  it  might  as  well  have  come  to  it  here  as  any 
where  else  :  Helen  realised  the  fact  with  a  superficial 
satisfaction,  following  her  superficial  terror  of  the 
publicity  of  the  place.  "  Ever  since  I  first  saw  you — 

"  Oh,  don't  say  any  more  !  Indeed,  you  mustn't ! 
Didn't  the  Rays — didn't  they  tell  you — 

"  I  haven't  seen  them.  Before  I  went  home  I 
knew  that  your  father's  circumstances —  But  I  beg 
you  to  do  me  at  least  the  kindness  to  believe  that  it 
made  no  difference  at  all.  God  knows  I  never  con 
sidered  the  circumstances  or  made  them  an  instant's 
question." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Lord  Rainford ;  generous — 
but—" 

"No.  It  pleased  me  to  think  you  had  nothing. 
I  would  rather  have  found  YQU  as  I  have  than  in  the 
best  house  in  your  townjTl  don't  like  people  of 
fashion  at  home  ;  and  when  u,  comes  to  what  is  called 
position,  or  loss  of  it,  here — ^\ 

Helen  tried  to  interpose  again,  but  he  would  not 
let  her  speak. 

"  What  Ray  told  me  only  made  me  the  more  impa 
tient  to  see  you  again,  and  to  assure  you — to  tell  you 
how  wholly  I  sympathised  with  your — ideas  ;  and  to 
prove  my  sincerity  in  any  way  you  choose.  If  you 
dislike  going  to  England — and  I  could  very  well 
imagine  you  might,  for  some  reasons — I  will  come 
here.  It 's  indifferent  to  me  where  I  live,  so  that  I 


294  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 


honestly  live  out  my  opinions.  j  love  you  for  what 
you  are,  —  for  your  courage,  your  sincerity,  your  truth 
to  yourself  ;  and  if  you  think  that  your  having  — 
your  being  —  ~\ 

"  Oh,  it  ianftbat  at  all  !"  cried  Helen  piteously, 
compassionately.  To  a  girl  who  had  never  dr^mt  of 
being  loved  for  anything  but  herself,  and^iti  her 
quality  of  well-born  and  well-bred  American,  could 
not  imagine  herself  less  than  the  equal  of  princes^J 
Lord  Rainford's  impassioned  misconceptions  con 
tained  as  many  offences  as  could  have  been  put  into 
as  many  words;  but  she  forgave  them  all  to  the 
pain  that  she  saw  that  she  must  inflict.  He  had 
misunderstood  everything  :  all  her  assumptions  of 
equality,  on  his  own  plane,  had  been  thrown  away 
upon  him  ;  she  had  only  been  his  equal  as  he  ordained 
it,  and  condescended  to  her  level.  But  she  could  not 
be  angry  with  him,  since  she  was  to  crush  him  with 
the  word  she  must  speak.  She  had  never  forgiven 
herself  for  her  reckless  behaviour  the  first  time  they 
met  ;  and  now  he  must  have  taken  all  her  kind  suf 
ferance,  all  her  hospitable  goodwill  of  the  past  week 
—  which  she  had  shown  in  atonement  —  as  invitation 
for  him  to  hope,  even  to  expect.  She  hung  her 
head,  but  she  must  stop  him  at  once,  and,  "  Oh  ! 
Lord  Rainford,"  she  murmured,  "  I  'm  engaged  !" 

He  turned  very  white.  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  he 
said,  simply  and  quietly. 

"  I've  been  very  greatly  to  blame  from  the  begin 
ning  ;  I  see  it  now,  and  I  ought  to  have  seen  it  before. 
But  that  first  day,  when  I  met  you,  I  was  very  unhappy 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  295 

—I  hardly  knew  what  I  did  ;  I  'm  afraid  I  didn't  care. 
I  had  driven  away  the  dearest  friend  I  had  by  my 
foolishness  ;  and  he  had  left  me,  hating  me ;  it  made 
me  desperate !  But  it  all  came  right  very  soon 
again  ;  and  it 's  he—  It 's  cruel  of  me  to  be  telling 
you  this ;  but  I  want  you  to  believe  that  I  do  prize 
your  regard,  and  that  since  you've  been  here  this 
time,  I  've  only  tried  to  do  what  I  could  to  remove 
that  first  impression,  and  to — to — to —  You  must 
forgive  me  !" 

"  0  yes,"  said  the  young  man  with  a  bewildered 
look. 

"I  do  see  how  good  you  are,  and  I  respect —  Any 
girl  might  be  proud  and  glad,  if  she  were  not 
bound — 

"Good-bye,"  said  Lord  Kainford  abruptly.  She 
took  his  hand  in  a  clinging,  pitying  pressure ;  she 
would  have  liked  to  detain  him,  and  say  something 
more,  to  add  those  futilities  with  which  women  vainly 
seek  to  soften  the  blow  they  deal  a  man  whom  they 
value,  but  do  not  love.  But  the  useless  words  would 
not  come  to  her  lips,  and  she  must  let  him  go  with 
out  them. 


XIV. 

HELEN  hurried  home,  and  ran  up  to  her  room. 
She  had  thought  she  wanted  to  hide ;  but  now  she 
found  that  she  wanted  to  walk,  to  run,  to  fly,  to  get 
into  the  open  air  again,  to  escape  from  herself  some 
how.  She  was  frantic  with  the  nervous  access  of 
which,  now  that  Lord  Rainford  was  gone,  she  had 
fallen  the  prey.  She  was  pulling  on  her  gJoves,  as 
she  rushed  down-stairs,  and  she  almost  ran  over  the 
servant,  who  was  coming  up  with  a  card  in  her  hand. 
She  stopped  short,  and  the  girl  gave  her  the  card. 

"For  me!"  she  cried  in  wild  exasperation.  "I 
can't  see  anybody!  Say  that  I'm  going  out.  I' 
can't  see  any  one  !" 

A  little  old  gentleman,  Avith  his  overcoat  on,  and  his 
hat  in  his  hand,  who  must  have  overheard  her,  came 
out  of  the  reception-room,  and  stood  between  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  and  the  street-door. 

"  I  wish  to  see  you,  Miss  Harkness,  on  very  im 
portant  business." 

"  I  can't  see  you  now.  I  can't  see  any  one  !  I 
don't  know  you,  sir  !  Why  do  you  come  to  me  ?" 
she  demanded  indignantly,  and  quivering  with  im 
patience. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  297 

"  My  name  is  Everton.  I  bought  your  father's 
house  when  it  was  sold  hist  fall  at  auction,  and  I 
came  to  see  you  in  regard  to  some  circumstances 
connected  with  that  purchase." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  circumstances," 
cried  Helen.  "  You  must  wait  till  Captain  Butler 
gets  home." 

"I  was  sure,"  said  Mr.  Everton,  with  insinuation 
that  arrested  her  in  spite  of  herself,  "  that  you  knew 
nothing  of  the  circumstances,  and  from  what  I  knew 
of  your  father,  I  felt  certain  that  his  daughter  would 
like  to  know  of  them." 

"  Please  tell  me  what  you  mean,"  said  Helen,  and 
with  a  glance  at  the  gaping  servant-girl  she  pushed 
open  the  reception-room  door.  Mr.  Everton  politely 
refused  to  enter  first,  and  he  softly  closed  the  door 
when  they  were  both  within. 

"  It  is  simply  this,  Miss  Harkness,"  said  Mr. 
Everton,  who  had  a  small,  hard  neatness  of  speech, 
curiously  corresponding  to  his  small,  hard  neatness  of 
person.  "  I  have  reason  to  believe — in  fact,  I  have 
evidence — that  I  was  the  victim  of  a  fraud  on  the  part 
of  the  auctioneer  ;  and  that  I  was  induced  to  outbid, 
by  five  or  six  thousand  dollars,  bids  that  were  cried 
by  the  auctioneer,  but  that  had  never  been  made  at 
all." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  faltered  Helen. 

Mr.  Everton  explained,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"This  is  all  a  mystery  to  me.  Why  don't  you 
wait  till  Captain  Butler  returns  1  Why  do  you  come 
to  me  ? "  She  suddenly  added  :  "  Or,  no  !  I  am  glad 


298  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

you  came  to  me.  I  can't  suffer  any  doubt  to  rest 
in  your  mind  for  an  instant :  if  you  have  been 
wronged,  that 's  quite  enough.  Thank  you  for  com 
ing."  She  rose  with  a  splendour  which  seemed  to 
increase  her  stature,  and  diminish  Mr.  Everton's. 
"I  was  just  going  out,  and  if  you  will  come  with 
me  I  will  go  at  once  to  Mr.  Hibbard's  office  with 
you.  He  has  charge  of  my  affairs  in  Captain 
Butler's  absence.  If  there  has  been  any  mistake, 
I  am  sure  that  he  will  have  it  corrected  imme 
diately." 

She  started  out  with  Mr.  Everton  at  her  side,  and 
swept  haughtily  on  for  several  squares.  Then  she 
found  herself  trembling.  "  I  wish  you  would  call  a 
carriage,  please, "  she  said  faintly. 

When  they  arrived  at  Mr.  Hibbard's  office,  Mr. 
Everton  allowed  her  to  pay  for  the  carriage  he  had 
shared  with  her.  She  could  not  quell  her  excite 
ment  when  she  entered  the  lawyer's  private  room 
with  him.  "  Mr.  Hibbard,"  she  began,  in  a  key 
which  she  knew  sounded  hysterical,  and  which  she 
despised,  but  was  helpless  to  control,  "  Mr.  Everton 
thinks  that  he  was  cheated  in  the  purchase  of  our 
house ;  and  I  wish  you  to  hear  his  story,  please,  and 
if  it  is  so,  I  wish  him  to  be  righted,  no  matter  what 
it  costs." 

"Sit  down,"  said  the  lawyer.  He  placed  a  chair  for 
Helen,  and  allowed  Mr.  Everton  to  find  one  for  him 
self,  and  then  waited  for  him  to  begin.  Mr.  Everton 
was  not  embarrassed.  He  behaved  like  a  man  secure 
of  his  right,  and  told  his  story  over  again,  straight- 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  299 

forwardly  and  clearly.  Mr.  Hibbard  smiled  so  lightly 
and  carelessly  at  the  end,  that  Helen  felt  at  once 
that  it  must  be  all  rubbish,  and  that  it  would  be 
perfectly  easy  for  him  to  undeceive  Mr.  Everton. 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  to  me  directly  with  this 
story,  Mr.  Everton  1"  asked  the  lawyer. 

"  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Hibbard,"  returned  the  old 
man  keenly,  "that  I'm  obliged  to  account  to  you 
fur  my  motives.  I  don't  know  but  that  I  should 
have  preferred  to  communicate  with  you  through  my 
lawyer,  if  it  had  not  been  for  this  young  lady,  who 
felt  sure  that  you  would  see  justice  done." 

The  lawyer  smiled  at  an  assertion  which  was 
evidently  not  made  to  weigh  with  him.  "  You  ought 
to  know  by  this  time,  Mr.  Everton,  that  justice  is  an 
affair  of  the  Courts,  and  that  lawyers  look  after  their 
clients'  interests." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  look  after  mine  at  the  ex 
pense  of  justice,  Mr.  Hibbard,"  said  Helen  nervously, 
pulling  herself  back  to  the  point  from  which  she  had 
lapsed  at  Mr.  Hibbard's  smile. 

"  We  will  try  to  do  what  is  right,"  said  the  lawyer, 
in  a  way  that  made  her  ,feel  rather  si]ly.  "  But  we 
won't  do  anything  rashly  because  two  romantic  young 
people  have  decided  that  it  is  right  without  con 
sulting  any  one  else." 

If  Mr.  Hibbard  expected  Mr.  Everton  to  enjoy 
this  joke  he  was  mistaken.  "  I  am  quite  willing," 
said  the  old  gentleman  grimly,  "  to  leave  the  affair 
to  the  Courts." 

"If  I  hadn't  your  word  for  that,  Mr.  Everton," 


300  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

returned  the  lawyer  briskly,  "  I  should  doubt  your 
willingness  to  do  anything  of  the  kind." 

"Why?" 

"Because  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  that  you 
have  no  case,  that  all  your  suspicions  and  impressions, 
and  conjectures  and  hearsay,  wouldn't  amount  to 
that  in  Court."  The  lawyer  snapped  his  fingers. 
"  You  know  very  well  that  you  went  to  Miss  Harkness 
to  fortify  yourself  at  the  expense  of  the  weakness 
you  hoped  to  find  in  her,  and  that  you  have  done  an 
irregular  and  ungentlemanly  thing  in  annoying  her 
with  this  matter.  I  am  sorry  to  say  it  to  so  old  a 
man  as  you.  Did  you  expect  to  extort  money  from 
her?  Probably  you  were  surprised  that  she  chose 
to  consult  me  at  all. — Miss  Harkness,  I  advise  you 
to  go  home,  and  think  no  more  about  this  matter. 
There  's  nothing  of  it !" 

The  lawyer  rose,  as  if  to  end  the  interview,  but 
Mr.  Everton  remained  seated,  looking  through  the 
papers  of  a  long  pocket-book  he  had  taken  from  his 
coat,  and  unfolded  upon  his  knee,  and  Helen  re 
mained  seated  too,  fascinated  by  the  old  man's 
quiet  self-possession. 

"I  have  something  here  to  show  you,"  he  said 
tranquilly,  offering  the  lawyer  the  paper  which  he 
had  found.  "  And  I  wish  you  to  understand,"  he 
added,  "  that  I  am  not  here  to  be  instructed  as  to 
the  conduct  of  a  gentleman,  or  to  account  for  my 
conduct  in  any  way.  I  prefer  that  you  should 
not  attempt  to  account  for  my  possession  of  this 
paper ;  and  if  you  ask  me  any  questions  in  regard  to 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  301 

it,  I  shall  not  answer  them.  It  is  sufficient  for  you 
to  consider  whether  it  is  worth  while  for  you  to 
go  into  Court  against  it.  I  was  willing,  and  am 
still  so,  to  spare  the  scandal  attending  such  an  affair 
in  Court,  but  I  am  determined  to  have  the  sum  out 
of  which  I  have  been  defrauded." 

The  lawyer  was  reading  the  paper  without  apparent 
attention  to  what  Mr.  Everton  was  saying,  but 
when  he  had  gone  through  the  paper  again,  he 
turned  to  Helen,  and  said  reluctantly,  "  Miss  Hark- 
ness,  it 's  my  duty  to  tell  you  what  this  paper  is  : 
it's  a  confession  from  the  auctioneer  that  he  did 
invent  a  series  of  bids  by  which  he  ran  the  price  of 
the  house  up  from  thirty  to  thirty-five  thousand 
dollars.  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  that  the  case, 
if  brought  into  Court,  would  be  decided  in  Mr. 
Everton 'a  favour  on  any  such  evidence  as  this;  in 
fact,  I  think  it  would  not  be  easy  to  bring  the  case 
into  Court  at  all.  But  Mr.  Everton  hasn't  obtained 
the  paper  for  any  such  purpose.  He  has  obtained 
it  with  a  view  of  frightening  you  into  the  pay 
ment  of  a  sum — I  don't  know  what  figure  he 
has  fixed  on  in  his  mind — to  keep  the  matter  still. 
Now,  I  advise  you  not  to  pay  anything  to  keep  it 
still — not  a  cent."  He  folded  up  the  paper  and 
handed  it  back  to  Mr.  Everton,  who  put  it  into  his 
pocket-book  again. 

"Will  you  let  me  see  it,  please?"  said  Helen 
gently.  He  gave  her  the  paper,  and  she  read  it, 
and  then  restored  it  to  hirn.  After  a  while  she  said, 
"  I  am  trying  to  think  what  papa  would  have  done. 


302  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Wasn't  Captain  Butler  at  the  auction — wouldn't  he 
have  suspected,  if  anything  had  gone  wrong  1" 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  And  if  he  had  had  any  misgivings — " 

"He  would  have  come  to  me  with  them,  and  I 
should  have  told  him  not  to  pay  the  slightest  atten 
tion  to  them,"  said  Mr.  Hibbard  promptly.  "  My  dear 
Miss  Harkness,  the  whole  thing  is  preposterous.  That 
fellow  Mortimer  is  a  scamp,  but  he  isn't  such  a  scamp 
as  he  professes  to  be.  If  Mr.  Everton  will  excuse 
my  frankness,  I  will  say  that  I  believe  this  is  purely 
a  financial  transaction  between  himself  and  Mortimer. 
The  fellow  had  heard  of  Mr.  Everton's  suspicions, 
and  when  he  wanted  money  very  badly,  he  went  to 
him,  and  sold  out — for  a  sum  which  Mr.  Everton's 
delicacy  would  prevent  him  from  naming ;  but  pro 
bably  something  handsome,  though  Mortimer  has 
been  going  to  the  dogs  lately,  and  he  may  have  sold 
out  cheap." 

Mr.  Everton,  having  folded  up  his  paper  and  put 
it  back  into  his  pocket-book,  and  restored  that  to  his 
breast-pocket,  rose,  and  buttoned  his  coat  over  it. 
"I'm  sorry,  Miss  Harkness,"  he  said,  "that  you 
haven't  a  better  adviser.  I  can't  expect  you  to  act 
independently  of  him,  and  that 's  your  misfortune. 
I  knew  your  father,  and  he  was  a  very  honest  man. 
Good-morning." 

"He  was  too  honest,"  cried  the  law^yer,  "to  make 
any  difficulty  about  paying  you  your  cut-throat 
usury." 

"  My  loan  came  at  a  time,  Miss  Harkness,  when 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  303 

your  father  could  get  money  nowhere  else,  and  it 
saved  him  from  bankruptcy.  Good-afternoon." 

He  took  no  notice  of  the  lawyer  in  quitting  the 
room,  and  when  he  was  gone  the  latter  broke  out 
with,  "I  hope  he  will  press  this  to  an  issue!  I 
think  I  could  give  him  something  to  think  of  if  I 
could  get  a  chance  at  him  in  open  Court.  The  old 
scoundrel,  to  come  to  you  with  this  thing  !  But  he 
knew  better  than  to  come  to  me  first.  I  wonder  he 
dared  to  come  at  all !  Miss  Harkness,  don't  be 
troubled  about  it ;  there  's  nothing  of  it,  I  assure 
you  ;  nothing  that  need  give  you  a  moment's  anxiety 
as  to  the  result.  You  may  be  absolutely  certain  that 
this  is  the  end  of  the  whole  affair ;  he  would  never  dare 
to  go  into  Court  with  that  paper  in  the  world.  It 
was  given  to  him,  you  may  rest  satisfied,  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  extorting  money  from  us  privately,  and 
with  the  agreement — which  Mortimer  would  know 
how  to  make  perfectly  safe  for  himself — that  it  was 
never  to  be  used  in  any  public  or  legal  way.  Mr. 
Everton  has  made  his  attempt,  and  has  failed ;  that 's 
all.  You  '11  hear  no  more  of  it." 

"  Is  it  true,"  asked  Helen  gently,  and  with  an 
entire  absence  of  the  lawyer's  resentful  excitement, 
"that  he  lent  papa  money  when  he  could  get  it 
nowhere  else  ? " 

"In  any  ordinarily  disastrous  time  your  father 
could  always  have  got  money,  Miss  Harkness.  But 
the  time  that  Everton  alluded  to  was  one  when  it 
could  be  got  only  of  usurers  like  himself.  He  made 
your  father  pay  three  or  four  times  what  any  man 


304  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

with  a  Christian  conscience  would  have  asked  for 
it." 

"  And  did  it  save  papa  from  bankruptcy  1 " 

"Everybody  was  in  difficulties  at  that  time; 
and—" 

'"Do  you  think,"  pursued  Helen,  as  if  it  were  a 
branch  of  the  same  inquiry,  "  that  he  really  supposes 
the  auctioneer  cheated  1 " 

"  Very  likely  he  had  his  suspicions.  He  's  full  of 
all  sorts  of  suspicions.  I  daresay  he  suspects  that 
you  and  I  were  in  collusion  in  regard  to  this  matter, 
and  prepared  for  him  if  he  should  ever  come  upon 
such  an  errand." 

"  Oh  !"  murmured  Helen. 

"Why  should  you  worry  yourself  about  it, 
Miss  Harkness  ?  As  it  was,  he  bought  the  house  at 
a  ruinously  low  figure,  and  it 's  worth  now  a  third 
more  than  he  paid  for  it  six  months  ago." 

"  But  you  don't  think  it  is  possible  the  auctioneer 
could  have  done  such  a  thing  ? " 

"Oh,  possible — yes,  but  extremely  improbable." 

"It  makes  me  unhappy,  very  unhappy,"  said 
Helen.  "  I  can't  bear  to  have  any  doubt  about  it. 
It  seems  a  kind  of  stain  on  papa's  memory." 

"  Bless  my  soul,  my  dear  young  lady  !  "  cried  the 
lawyer,  "  what  has  it  to  do  with  your  father's 
memory  1 " 

"Everything,  if  I  don't  see  the  wrong  righted." 

"  But  if  there  hasn't  been  any  wrong  1 " 

"Ah,  that's  the  worst  :  we  can't  find  out.  Mr. 
Hibbard,  you  never  heard  any  one  else  express  any 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  305 

misgivings  about  the  sale?"  The  lawyer  shifted  a 
little  in  his  chair,  and  betrayed  a  fleeting  uneasiness, 
which  he  tried  to  hide  with  a  laugh.  Helen  was 
instantly  upon  him  :  "  Oh,  who  ivas  it  ?" 

"I  haven't  admitted  that  it  was  anybody." 

"  But  it  was  !     You  must  tell  me  !" 

"  There  's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't.  It  was  as  in 
nocent  a  person  as  yourself:  it  was  Captain  Butler!" 

"Captain  Butler  !" 

"  And  I  can  tell  you,  for  your  entire  satisfaction,  I 
hope,  that  he  went  to  the  auctioneer  and  laid  his 
doubts  before  him,  and  the  auctioneer  solemnly 
assured  him  that  the  bids  were  all  bonafide,  just  as 
he  now  solemnly  assures  Mr.  Everton  that  they  were 
fictitious.  But  Captain  Butler  was  not  so  shrewd  as 
Mr.  Everton — he  didn't  make  the  auctioneer  put 
himself  in  writing." 

Helen  pulled  her  veil  over  her  face.  "  And  is 
— is  there  no  way  of  solving  the  doubt?"  she  made 
out  to  ask. 

"  There  is  no  doubt  to  solve,  in  my  mind,"  said 
Mr.  Hibbard.  "  I  advised  Captain  Butler  to  dismiss 
the  matter  altogether,  as  I  now  advise  you.  I  tell 
you  that  you  Ve  heard  the  last  of  Mr.  Everton  in 
this  connection." 

Helen  did  not  answer.  But  presently  she  said, 
"Mr.  Hibbard,  I  was  going  to  come  to  you  for 
some  money.  I  understood  from  Captain  Butler 
that  you  had  charge  of  what  was  left  for  me,  and  that 
I  could  get  it  of  you  whenever  I  wanted  it." 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

U 


306  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  In  such  sums  as  I  like  1" 

The  lawyer  laughed.  "  In  any  sums  short  of  the 
amount  of  Mr.  Everton's  claim." 

Helen  was  daunted  to  find  herself  unmasked  ;  but 
she  only  put  on  the  bolder  front.  "  But  if  I  wish  to 
pay  that  claim  !, " 

"  Then  I  should  intervene,  and  say  the  claim  did 
not  exist." 

"  But  if  the  money  is  mine  ?"  she  urged. 

"  If  you  insisted  upon  taking  up  all  your  money, 
I  should,  as  Captain  Butler's  friend,  and  as  the  old 
friend  of  your  father,  refuse  to  let  you  have  it,  unless 
you  explicitly  promised  me  that  you  would  not  give 
it  to  Mr.  Everton.  For  it  would  literally  be  giving 
it  to  him." 

"  And  if  I  said  that  you  had  no  right  to  refuse 
it  1  If  I  told  you  that  I  was  of  age,  and  that  I  was 
determined  to  have  it  without  conditions  V1 

"Then  I  should  make  bold  to  defy  you  at  any 
risk  till  I  had  laid  the  whole  matter  before  Captain 
Butler,  and  heard  from  him  in  reply.  Now,  my  dear 
Miss  Harkness,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  I  know  just  how 
you  feel  about  this  matter,  and  I  want  you  to  believe 
that  if  I  thought  it  was  just,  I  should  not  only  be 
willing  to  have  you  pay  Mr.  Everton's  claim,  but 
should  urge  you  to  pay  it,  even  if  it  beggared 
you." 

"  Would  it — w^ould  it  take  all  the  money  ?"  faltered 
Helen. 

"Yes,  all.  But  it  isn't  to  be  thought  of;  the 
whole  thing's  in  the  air;  it's  preposterous."  The 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  307 

lawyer  went  carefully  and  judicially  into  the  whole 
case,  and  clearly  explained  the  points  and  principles 
to  Helen,  who  listened  silently,  and  to  all  appearance 
with  conviction.  At  the  end  he  asked  cheerfully,  as 
he  prepared  to  write  a  cheque,  "  And  now,  how 
much  money  shall  I  let  you  have  to-day  ?  " 

"None!"  said  Helen,  "I  couldn't  bear  to  touch 
it.  I  know  that  you  feel  as  you  say  ;  and  it  seems 
as  if  you  must  be  right.  But  if  I  spent  a  cent  of 
that  money  I  could  never  be  happy  again  unless  I 
knew  absolutely  that  there  was  nothing  in  this 
claim." 

The  lawyer  smiled  despairingly.  "  But  you  never 
can  know  absolutely  !" 

"  Then  I  will  never  touch  the  money." 

"  Eeally,  really,"  cried  the  lawyer,  "  this  is  too 
bad.  Do  you  want  me  to  give  you  this  money  to 
throw  into  the  street  1  I  honestly  believe  that  the 
first  man  who  picked  it  up  there  would  have  as  much 
right  to  it  as  Mr.  Everton." 

"  Yes,  but  nobody  knows"  said  Helen,  rising.  "  I  'm 
sorry  to  give  you  all  this  trouble,  and  take  up  your 
time ;  and  I  wish  that  I  needn't  seem  so  obstinate 
and  unreasonable ;  but  indeed,  indeed  I  can't 
help  it." 

"Confound  the  old  rascal !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hib- 
bard.  "  I  wish  I  'd  indulged  myself  in  kicking  him 
out  of  doors.  Miss  Harkness,  I  '11  inquire  into  this 
matter,  and  in  the  meantime  I  '11  write  to  Captain 
Butler.  Do  you  think  that  I  can  do  more  1 " 

11  No." 


308  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  And  now  I  shall  be  glad  to  give  you  any  money 
on  account." 

" I  can't  take  any,"  said  Helen ;  "it  would  be 
quite  the  same  thing.  I  never  could  pay  it  back, 
and  if  it  turned  out  that  it  belonged  to  him,  I  should 
be  either  a  beggar  or  a  thief." 

The  lawyer  gave  a  roar  of  expostulation.  "  But 
if  you  are  out  of  money  what  will  you  do  V 

"I  have  a  little  yet.  Captain  Butler  supplied  me 
with  money  before  he  went  away,  and  I  have  still 
some  of  it  left."  This  was  true.  She  had  been 
using  what  she  called  Mr.  Trufitt's  money,  and  she 
had  a  dollar  and  seventy-five  cents  left  of  the  sum 
that  Captain  Butler  had  made  her  believe  was  hers. 

The  lawyer,  on  his  part,  forbore  to  explain  that 
the  money  Captain  Butler  gave  her  must  have  been 
in  anticipation  of  interest  on  the  five  thousand 
dollars  he  held  for  her.  He  only  said,  "  But  you 
will  accept  a  loan  from  me  ?" 

"No;  I  shouldn't  feel  that  I  was  making  any 
sacrifice  then." 

"  But  why,  under  heaven,  should  you  make  a 
sacrifice  ?"  demanded  the  business  man  of  the  girl. 

"  I  must — to  feel  true  to  myself,"  she  answered ; 
and  something  like  this  absurdity  she  repeated  in 
answer  to  all  his  prayers  and  reasons,  and  went 
away  empty-handed  at  the  end. 


XV. 

THAT  evening  Helen  tapped  at  Miss  Root's  door, 
and  entered  in  response  to  the  girl's  invitation  to 
"Come  in!"  When  she  showed  herself  within, 
"  Oh,  excuse  me!"  cried  Miss  Root,  in  the  reedy 
note  which  ladies  make  when  they  have  pins  in  their 
mouths.  She  had  her  lap  full  of  sewing,  and  she 
obviously  could  not  get  up.  "I  thought  it  was 
Bridget." 

"  Bridget  wouldn't  be  coming  to  you  on  my 
errand,"  said  Helen  with  a  bluntness  which  at  once 
made  its  way  with  Miss  Root. 

"  What  is  your  errand  1"  she  asked,  taking  three 
pins  out  of  her  mouth  for  the  purpose. 

"  I  must  earn  some  money,  somehow.  I  thought 
perhaps  you  could  tell  me — advise  me — 

"  I  can  tell  you,  but  I  can't  advise  you,"  said  Miss 
Root,  bending  over  her  work,  and  treating  Helen's 
extremity  as  one  of  the  most  natural  things  in  life. 
"  I  earned  money  enough  to  come  to  Boston  and 
study  Art" —  she  pronounced  it  with  the  conventional 
capital  rather  disdainfully,  as  if  she  would  have  chosen 
a  homelier  expression  if  she  could  have  thought  of 
one — "  by  helpin'  mother  take  boarders.  We  took 


310  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

'em  our  summers,  and  I  taught  winters.  That's  the 
way  /  earned  some  money.  But  I  suppose  you  don't 
want  to  take  boarders." 

Helen  hardly  knew  how  to  interpret  the  gleam  in 
Miss  Koot's  eye.  But,  "  No,"  she  answered  simply, 
"  I  shouldn't  know  how  to  do  that." 

"Well,  neither  do  most  of  the  boardin'-house 
keepers."  She  stopped  here  so  definitively  that  Helen 
was  obliged  to  take  the  word  if  the  conversation  was 
to  go  on. 

"  I  thought,"  she  faltered,  "  that  perhaps  you  could 
tell  me  how  to  do  something  with  my  pencil  that 
would  sell.  I  can  sketch  a  little." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Eoot  non-committally ;  "  I  re 
member." 

"  And  it  seems  to  me,  that  if  I  knew  how  to  go 
about  it,  I  ought  to  be  able  to  turn  the  study  I  have 
given  it  to  some  account." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Miss  Eoot,  "  that  it 's  for  some 
charity." 

"  For  some  charity  !  "  cried  Helen.  "  No,  indeed  ! 
it's  for  myself." 

''Oh,"  said  the  other.  "Then  if  I  were  you,  I 
wouldn't  throw  my  time  away.  You  '11  never  succeed." 

"  I  don't  want  to  succeed — as  an  artist,"  retorted 
Helen  with  a  little  pique.  "  But  I  have  really  come 
to  the  point  where  I  must  either  earn  some  money, 
or  else  borrow  or  beg  it.  There  are  plenty  of  people 
who  would  be  ready  to  give  it  or  lend  it,  but  I  can't 
let  them,  and  I  hoped  that  you  might  be  able  to  tell 
me  how  to  earn  it." 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  311 

Miss  Eoot  shook  her  head.  "Of  course,  I  like 
your  spirit ;  it 's  the  right  spirit ;  but  I  can't  help  you 
in  that  way.  I've  never  sold  a  thing  yet,  and  I 
don't  know  when  I  shall,  if  I  ever  shall.  If  I  didn't 
love  to  paint,  I  should  quit  and  go  home  by  the  first 
train.  But  I  do  love  it,  and  I  'm  goin'  to  stick  to  it 
till  I  begin  to  starve.  I  don't  ever  expect  to  get 
married — thalw&s  finished  up  long  ago ! — and  mother's 
married  again,  and  here  I  am  without  a  chick  or  a 
child  to  trouble  me,  or  trouble  about  me.  But  if  I 
had  a  cat  to  keep,  I  shouldn't  try  to  keep  it  on  Art. 
Oh,  I  presume  that  after  years  and  years,  I  can  sell 
a  picture,  maybe  ;  but  I  know  painters  in  this  city — 
real  artists  " — she  put  the  words  unsparingly,  as  with 
a  conscience  against  letting  Helen  suppose  herself 
for  a  moment  anything  of  the  kind — "  that  would  be 
glad  to  give  all  they  do  for  a  regular  income  of  a 
thousand  dollars  a  year.  If  you  Ve  a  mind  to  paint 
gimcracks,"  she  added,  and  this  was  the  only  way  in 
which  she  deigned  to  acknowledge  her  privity  to 
Helen's  previous  performance,  "  you  can  sell  'em  if 
some  simpleton  sets  the  fashion  of  buying  'em,  or  if 
people  know  you  did  'em.  But  I  presume  that  ain't 
what  you  want." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Helen,  shuddering  at  the 
thought  of  Mr.  Trufitt,  and  helplessly  loathing  her 
self  for  being  at  that  moment  a  pensioner  on  his 
bounty  ;  "it  would  be  better  to  starve." 

"Or,"  pursued  Miss  Eoot,  "you  might  teach 
drawing.  People  have  to  throw  away  their  money 
somehow.  But,  if  I  understand,  you  don't  want  to 


312  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

go  to  people  that  have  money  to  throw  away  for  that 
any  more  than  the  other  thing." 

"No,"  murmured  Helen.  She  knew  that  Miss 
Eoot  had  at  once  divined  that  she  had  come  to  her 
instead  of  going  to  any  friends  of  her  former  life 
because  she  did  not  choose  to  let  them  pity  her,  and 
help  her  to  any  sort  of  trivial  work  out  of  pity.  In 
the  girl's  straightforward  sincerity  she  felt  the  com 
fort  that  the  feminine  soul  finds  in  the  frankness  of 
a  man,  and  she  subtly  perceived  that,  for  all  her  show 
of  indifference,  Cornelia  liked  her,  and  was  touched 
by  the  advance  she  had  made  in  coming  to  her.  In 
fact,  Miss  Root  prided  herself  on  her  large-minded- 
ness,  a  quality  which  she  applied  more  impartially 
to  people  about  her  than  is  generally  done.  Her 
liberality  was  not  merely  for  people  of  her  own  origin 
and  experience,  but  for  others  who  had  known  better 
fortunes,  and  had  lost  them,  or  who  had  them  still 
and  were  unhappy  in  them ;  and  the  severity  which 
accompanied  her  large-mindedness  began  with  her 
self,  and  extended  only  to  envious  and  detracting 
spirits.  If  the  secrets  of  Miss  Root's  &oul  could  be 
unveiled,  it  would  be  seen  that  she  had  been  obliged 
from  the  beginning  to  discipline  herself  into  accepting 
Helen  as  worthy  her  esteem  and  regard,  in  spite 
of  her  beauty,  her  style,  and  her  air  of  a  finer  world 
than  Cornelia  Root  had  known,  except  at  a  distance. 
The  struggle  was  sharp,  but  it  had  ended  in  the 
interest  of  large-mindedness.  When  Mrs.  Hewitt 
assumed,  in  Helen's  absence  from  dinner,  while  she 
was  lunching  at  Miss  Kingsbury's,  to  be  confidentially 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  313 

speculative  about  the  English  lord  who  seemed  to  be 
coming  to  see  Miss  Harkness  pretty  often,  and 
spending  a  good  deal  of  time  when  he  did  come,  and 
so  tittered,  Cornelia  led  off  a  generous  opposition. 
"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  "how  much  a  lord's  time 
is  worth ;  but  if  it  ain't  worth  any  more  than  some 
of  the  fellows'  time  that  used  to  come  flirtin'  round 
with  our  summer  boarders,  I  don't  see  how  he  could 
put  it  in  much  better.  I  guess  he  ain't  after  her 
fortune,  any  way ;  and  /  guess  he  ain't  goin'  to  find 
much  more  of  a  lady  anywhere.  If  he  wants  to 
marry  her,  I  shan't  object,  even  if  they  don't  ask 
me  to  the  weddin'.  I  shouldn't  want  much  to  marry 
a  lord  for  my  own  pleasure  ;  but  I  don't  believe 
but  what  if  Miss  Harkness  does  she  '11  be  a  credit 
to  him." 

Cornelia  had  steadfastly  set  her  face  against  know 
ing  or  caring  anything  about  the  affair,  and  such  was 
now  her  discipline  that  she  believed  she  could  keep 
it  up  till  the  end,  whenever  that  was.  She  had  not 
only  snubbed  Mrs.  Hewitt  the  day  before,  but  this 
evening,  when  Helen  early  withdrew  from  tea,  pale, 
and  with  the  evidence  of  having  passed  a  day  of  great 
nervous  excitement,  she  refused  even  to  enter  into 
discussion  of  what  Mr.  Evans  called  the  phenomena, 
in  the  light  of  philosophico-economic  speculation. 

"Here,"  he  contended,  "are  a  most  interesting 
series  of  facts.  I  suppose  that  never,  since  the 
earliest  settlement  of  Boston,  has  a  member  of  the 
British  aristocracy  called  three  times,  on  three  suc 
cessive  days,  upon  a  young  lady  resident  in  a  board- 


314  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

ing-house,  even  of  such  acknowledged  gentility  as 
ours.  If  Mrs.  Hewitt  will  excuse  me,  I  will  assume 
that  it  is  not  the  merits  of  her  establishment  which 
have  attracted  him,  but  that  he  has  been  drawn  here 
by  that  charm  in  Miss  Harkness  which  we  all  feel.  He 
knew  her  in  other  days — in  better  days — and  nobly, 
and  like  a  nobleman,  he  has  sought  her  out  in  our 
humble  midst — if  that  is  a  correct  expression — and 
laid  his  coronet — if  it  is  a  coronet — which  he  keeps 
somewhere  concealed  about  his  person,  at  her  feet. 
As  no  human  girl  of  the  American  persuasion  was 
ever  known  to  refuse  a  lord,  if  she  got  the  chance, 
the  inference  is  irresistible  that  our  noble  friend  was 
instantly  accepted,  and  has  already  written  home  to 
have  his  ancestral  halls  whitewashed  up  for  the  recep 
tion  of  his  bride." 

"  Well,  you  may  twist  it  and  you  may  turn  it  as 
much  as  you  please,  Mr.  Evans,  and  call  it  philosophico- 
economic  speculation,  or  anything  you  want  to,"  re 
turned  Miss  Koot.  "  /  call  it  gossip  ;  and  I  never 
did  gossip,  and  I  never  will.  I  don't  care  if  she 
was  goin'  to  marry  twenty  lords;  it's  none  of  my 
business.  All  I  know  is  that  she  has  behaved  her 
self  like  a  perfect  lady  ever  since  she  's  been  in  the 
house." 

^  "  New  Hampshire  for  ever !  "  cried  Mr.  Evans. 

/"  The  granite  ribs  of  your  native  State  speak  in  every 
syllable,  Miss  Hoot.  But  you  will  acknowledge  that 
you  did  hate  her  just  a  little,  won't  you,  for  her 
superiority  to  us  all — which  she  can't  conceal — and 
that  you  would  recognise  the  hand  of  Providence  in 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  315 

the  dispensation,  if  his  lordship  had  jilted  her  to 
day?"  S 

" No,  1  wouldn't !"  retorted  Cornelia,  all  the  more 
vehemently  for  her  perception  of  the  malicious  truth 
in  the  insinuation. 

"Why,  that 's  exactly  what  my  wife  said,  when  I 
taxed  her  with  the  same  thing.  It  must  be  so. 
Now  don't,"  said  her  tormentor,  as  Cornelia  rose  from 
the  table,  "let  her  see  any  change  in  your  manner 
because  you  think  she's  going  to  marry  a  lord." 

It  was  the  insinuation  in  this  charge  that  made 
it  extremely  difficult  for  Cornelia  Root  toxadjust  her 
behaviour  to  the  occasion:  if  Miss  Harkness  ivas 
going  to  marry  that  lord — and  Cornelia  Root  was 
principled  against  inquiring — she  was  not  going  to 
make  the  slightest  change,  and  yet  she  was  aware 
that  some  extra  internal  stiffness,  which  she  must  be 
careful  not  to  show,  would  be  requisite  for  this  uni 
formity.  When  it  appeared  from  Helen's  application 
that  she  could  not  be  going  to  marry  the  lord,  at  least 
for  the  present,  Cornelia  had  to  guard  against  self- 
betrayal  in  a  too  precipitate  relaxation.  The  note  of 
despair  iri  Helen's  confession  that  she  could  not  go  to 
people  to  ask  pupils  for  the  same  reason  that  she  could 
not  ask  them  to  buy  her  gimcracks,  touched  Cornelia, 
or  as  she  would  have  said,  it  made  her  feel  for  the 
girl.  But  feeling  was  the  last  thing,  according  toJaer 
belief,  that  any  honest  person  ought  to  show.  \She 
was  going  to  help  her,  but  she  was  not  going  to  let 
her  see  that  she  was  capable  of  any  such  wea.knp.as 
as  sympathy ;  and  she  had  before  her  the  difficult 


316  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

task  of  treating  Helen  just  as  she  would  have 
treated  a  girl  who  had  always  been  poor,  and  of  not 
treating  her  any  worse.  "  There  are  a  good  many 
things  that  women  take  up  nowadays,"  she  said, 
with  an  aspect  of  hard  indifference.  "  Some  of  'em 
learn  telegraphin' — that  must  pay  almost  a  cook's 
wages ;  some  of  'em  go  into  the  hospitals,  and  learn 
to  be  professional  nurses — that  takes  you  about  two 
years  before  you  can  get  a  certificate,  and  then  it 's  a 
killin'  life  ;  there  are  the  public  schools,  but  there  are 
so  few  vacancies,  and  you  have  to  wait  and  wait  for 
months,  even  after  you  're  prepared." 

She  looked  at  Helen  as  if  she  thought  that  Helen 
was  probably  not  prepared,  and  Helen  shook  her 
head  assentingly.  "  No,"  she  sighed,  "  I  couldn't 
wait.  But  perhaps  I  shouldn't  want  to  do  anything 
for  a  great  length  of  time,"  she  said  innocently,  with 
the  thought  of  Robert's  return  in  her  mind.  "  It 
might  only  be  for  a  limited  period." 

"  That 's    what    I    supposed,"    said    Miss    Root. 

That 's  the  great  trouble.  If  a  man  takes  a  thing 
up,  he  takes  it  up  for  life,  but  if  a  woman  takes  it  up, 
she  takes  it  up  till  some  fellow  comes  along  and  tells 
her  to  drop  it.  And  then  they  're  always  complainin' 
that  they  ain't  paid  as  much  as  men  are  for  the  same 
work.  I  'm  not  speakin'  of  you,  Miss  Harkness,"  she 
said,  with  a  glance  at  Helen's  face,  "and  I  don't 
know  whether  I  want  to  join  in  any  cry  that  '11  take 
women's  minds  off  of  gettin'  married.  It 's  the  best 
thing  for  'ein,  and  it  ;s  about  all  they  're  fit  for,  most 
of  'em,  and  it 's  nature :  there 's  no  denyin'  that. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  317 

But  if  women  are  to  be  helped  along  independent  of 
men^and  I  never  was  such  a  fool  as  to  say  thej^I 
were — wny,  it  *s  a"  drawback.  And  so  most  of  'em 
that  can't  wait~~to  prepare  themselves  for  anything, 
because  they  don't  expect  to  stick  to  anything, 
they  turn  book-agents,  or  sell  some  little  paytented 
thing  ;  or  they  try  to  get  a  situation  in  a  store." 

Cornelia  began  to  sew  furiously,  as  if  in  an  exas 
peration  with  her  sex,  that  she  could  not  otherwise 
express.  "  And  you  may  be  sure,"  she  said,  after  a 
silence,  "  that  every  one  of  'em  tries  to  do  something 
better  than  she's  fit  for,  and  that  she  despises  her 
work,  and  thinks  she  ain't  paid  half  enough  for  it." 

Helen  did  not  heed  this  last  outburst.     She  was 
trying,  with  a  sickening,  chill  at  heart,  to  realise  her-   • 
self  in  the  character  oi[_tliose  resolute  young  women  - 
*who  had  sometimes  won  a  furtive  access  to  her  by 
asking  at  the  door  for  Miss  Harkness,  and  sending 
up  their  names  as  if  they  were  acquaintances,  and 
then  suddenly  developing  their  specimen  copy  of  the 
book  for  which  they  were  taking  subscriptions,  or 
the  needle-threader  or  thimble -case,  or  convertibl^ 
pen- wiper  and  boot-buttoner  which  they  were  selling.^ 
She  could  as  little  imagine  herself  behind  the  counter 
of  a  Washington  Street  fancy  or  variety  store,  stand 
ing  all  day  in  the  hotr"dry""air,  and  shrilly  piping 
"Ca-ish!"   as  she   had  heard  those  poor  shop-girls 
doing,  while  they  rapped  on  the  counter  with  their 
pencils  for  the  cash-Boy,  and  munched  a  surreptitious 
lunch  of  crackers  and  chocolate  creams.     If  it  must 
come  to  this,  she  did  not  know  what  she  should  do. 


318 

She  was  as  firm  as  ever  that  she  would  not  touch  the 
money  in  Mr.  Hibbard's  hands  as  long  as  the  least 
doubt  tainted  it ;  but  she  began  to  be  frightened  at 
herself,  and  at  the  prospect  before  her. 

"  And  is  there — is  there  nothing  else  7"  she  asked, 
in  a  voice  which  she  tried  to  make  steady,  and  only 
succeeded  in  making  almost  as  low  as  a  whisper. 

"  0  yes,"  said  Miss  Root;  "there's  the  theatre." 

Helen's  heart  gave  a  throb  of  hope.  She  used  to 
play  a  good  deal  in  private  theatricals  ;  she  had  acted 
a  French  monologue  once,  and  she  had  taken  a  part 
in  a  German  vaudeville  ;  everybody  had  praised  her, 
and  she  had  unquestionably  borne  the  palm  from  all 
her  dramatic  competitors.  A  brief  but  brilliant 
future  dazzled  before  her :  an  actress  who  was 
evidently  a  lady/ and  carried  the  air  and  tone  of 
good  society  with  her  on  the  stage ;  triumphs  and 
gains  in  cities  distant  from  Boston  in  an  incognito 
strictly  preserved ;  and  then  a  sudden  but  inexorable 
retirement  after  a  given  time  :  it  was  easy  work  for 
Helen's  lively  fancy  to  contrive  all  this,  with  a 
shining  amplification,  as  rapid  and  full  as  if  she  had 
dreamed  it  in  sleep.  "  Yes  1 "  she  said  with  an  interest 
which  she  could  not  at  once  forbid  herself. 

"I  had  a  friend,"  pursued  Miss  Root,  "a  friend- 
well,  she  was  a  kind  of  connection, — and  she  came  up 
to  Boston  the  same  time  I  did — crazy  to  go  on  the 
stage.  .  She  used  to  act  in  the  school  exhibitions, 
and  I  guess  she  got  her  head  turned ;  anyway 
nothing  else  would  do  her.  But  she  was  real  modest 
about  it ;  they  all  are  ;  she  only  wanted  to  play  little 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  319 

parts  like  Juliet,  and  Ophelia,  and  Lady  Macbeth. 
Well,  she  went  to  a  manager,  and  he  was  very  kind 
and  pleasant,  and  I  guess  he  saw  what  a  simple 
goose  she  was,  and  he  told  her  he  would  let  her 
have  a  chance  to  show  what  she  could  do,  and  he 
gave  her  a  place  in  the  ballet." 

"In  the  ballet?"  palpitated  Helen.  The  colours 
had  already  begun  to  fade  from  her  vision  of  his 
trionic  success,  and  the  crazy  structure  now  trembled 
to  its  fall. 

"She  thought,"  resumed  Cornelia,  "just  as  I 
presume  you  do,  that  it  was  dancin'.  She  said  she 
couldn't  dance  any ;  her  folks  had  always  been 
strict  orthodox,  and  wouldn't  let  her  learn ;  and  he 
laughed  and  said  most  of  the  ballet  never  danced  at 
all.  She  'd  have  to  go  on  as  a  peasant,  or  something 
like  that,  with  a  lot  of  others,  first  off ;  and  as  soon 
as  he  could  he  'd  give  her  a  few  words  to  say,  and 
she  could  see  how  she  got  along.  It  wa'n't  playing 
Ophelia  exactly,  but  she  was  dead  set  on  going  on 
to  the  stage,  and  so  she  took  up  with  his  offer,  and 
glad  enough,  and  she  got  six  dollars  a  week  from 
the  start." 

"And  has  she  ever — ever  got  on?"  asked  Helen 
faintly. 

"Well,  the  only  time  I  ever  saw  her  was  one 
night  when  she  had  the  part  of  a  page.  I  guess  she 
must  have  been  on  the  stage  as  much  as  a  minute, 
and  she  said  at  least  a  dozen  words.  But  I  couldn't 
seem  to  stand  it,  to  see  any  friend  of  mine  up  before 
all  those  people  in  boy's  clothes;  and  she  seemed 


320  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

pretty  long  for  a  page,  and  kind  of  bony,  and  I  went 
away  after  the  first  act ;  I  was  afraid  she  might 
come  on  again." 

Helen  smiled  and  shuddered;  the  idea  of  boy's 
clothes  was  final,  even  in  a  reverie,  and  she  hung  her 
head  in  innocent  shame. 

"  Now,"  said  Cornelia,  with  a  keen  glance  at  her 
abasement,  and  apparently  convinced  that  she  had 
brought  her  low  enough,  "  if  you  really  do  want  to 
do  something,  I  can  get  you  a  chance  to  try." 

Helen  started.     "  In  the  theatre  ?    Oh,  I  couldn't." 

Cornelia  laughed.  "  No,  not  in  the  theatre.  But 
there  's  a  friend  of  mine — well,  he  's  a  kind  of  a  con 
nection  too — used  to  have  a  photograph  saloon  down 
in  our  place ;  used  to  have  it  on  wheels,  and  get  it 
dragged  round  from  one  village  to  another ;  and  he  's 
got  Boston-bit  too  ;  and  so  he  's  come  up,  and  he  's 
opened  a  gallery  down  in  Hanover  Street ;  well,  it 's 
pretty  far  down.  Well,  he  hain't  got  a  very  high 
class  of  custom,  that 's  a  fact ;  and  if  he  had  he 
wouldn't  have  this  work  to  do,  I  presume." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Helen. 

"  It 's  colourin'  photographs." 

"  0  yes ;  I  've  seen  them,"  said  Helen,  remem 
bering  some  examples  of  the  art,  hung  aloft  in  oval 
frames,  in  country  parlours,  of  which  they  were 
cherished  ornaments. 

"  It  ain't  a  very  high  kind  of  art,"  said  Miss  Root, 
as  if  she  found  something  to  reprove  in  Helen's  tone, 
"  but  it  ain't  every  one  that  can  do  it,  low  as  it  is." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  depreciate  it,"  returned  Helen. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  321 

"  L  should  be  only  too  glad  if  you  'thought  /  could 
do  it." 

"  I  guess  I  can  get  you  the  chance  to  try,';  said 
Cornelia;  and  now,  as  if  she  wished  to  leave  the 
subject  and  prevent  the  premature  acknowledgments 
which  she  felt  she  had  not  yet  earned,  she  unpinned 
her  sewing  from  her  knee,  and  stood  up  holding  it 
at  arm's-length  from  her. 

"  The  trouble  is,"  she  mused  aloud,  "  that  you 
can't  tell  how  it's  going  to  hang,  after  all  your 
worry." 

"  Why  don't  you  let  me  drape  it  on  you  1"  asked 
Helen. 

Cornelia  dropped  the  lifted  arm,  and  let  the  skirt 
trail  on  the  floor.  "  Well,  if  you  think,  Miss  Hark- 
ness,  that  I've  been  hintin'  round  for  anything  of 
that  kind  !" 

"  I  don't,"  said  Helen.  "  Honestly  !  But  I  like  to 
fit^resses.  I  used  to  help  our  cook  with  hers." 
(^Cornelia  Eoot  had  to  discipline  with  uncommon 
severity  the  proud  spirit  that  revolted  at  having  the 
same  hands  drape  its  corporeal  covering  which  had 
draped  the  person  of  an  Irish  cook.  She  subdued 
it,  but  it  was  not  in  human  nature  that  she  should 
yield  gracefullyT^"  I  guess  I  better  go  to  a  dressmaker 
with  it,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  want  to  trouble  you." 

"It  won't  be  any  trouble,  indeed,"  said  Helen, 
taking  the  dress  from  her. 

After  fifteen  minutes  of  lively  discussion,  of  pin 
ning  back  and  pulling  forward,  and  holding  up  and 
letting  drop,  during  which  Cornelia  twisted  her  neck 

x 


322  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

half  off,  as  she  said,  looking  at  her  own  back,  she 
mounted  a  chair  and  surveyed  herself  in  the  glass. 
"  Well,  you  have  got  a  touch,  Miss  Harkness,"  she  said. 

"0  yes,  "returned  Helen  simply.     "I  know  that." 

"  Well,  why  in  the  world — "  Cornelia  began.  But 
she  checked  herself. 

"Why  what  ?"  asked  Helen. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  returned  Cornelia,  with  the  outward 
hauteur  which  was  apt  to  mark  a  spiritual  struggle 
with  her.  "  I  '11  see  Zenas  Pearson  to-morrow  about 
those  photographs." 

"  That  will  be  very  kind  of  you,"  said  Helen. 

The  next  day  Cornelia  brought  her  three  of  the 
unsparing  likenesses  in  which  the  art  of  photography 
sometimes  unmasks  its  objects.  One  was  a  gentleman 
in  what  he  would  have  called  chin-whiskers,  with 
his  hair  gathered  in  a  puff  over  his  forehead,  and 
a  gold  watch-chain  wandering  across  his  bulging 
shirt-front.  The  other  was  a  lady  in  middle  life, 
with  her  small  features  losing  themselves  in  the 
obese  contour  out  of  which  her  eyes  looked  over 
little  cushions  of  fat.  The  gentleman  was  to  be 
painted  of  a  fair  complexion,  and  the  lady  as  a 
brunette.  The  third  picture  was  the  likeness  of  this 
lady's  child,  which  was  to  be  coloured  in  accordance 
with  her  present  appearance  in  the  spirit-life  as 
reported  by  a  writing-medium. 

"  I  don't  envy  you  the  job,  any,"  said  Cornelia 
Eoot.  "  Zenas  apologised  for  not  bavin'  any  place 
for  you  to  work  in  his  gallery,  but  I  told  him  I 
guessed  you  'd  rather  work  a  while  at  home  first." 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  323 

"O  yes,"  murmured  Helen,  lost  in  a  heart-sick 
contemplation  of  her  subjects. 

"  He  can  allow  you  two  dollars  apiece  for  'em. 
It 's  better  than  nothin',  and  it  ain't  much  better,  and 
so  I  told  him,"  said  Cornelia. 

"  Oh,  it 's  quite  enough  ;  quite,"  returned  Helen. 

After  her  first  despair,  she  resolved  to  be  very  faith 
ful  and  conscientious  in  her  work,  and  try  to  make 
the  poor  things  look  as  well  as  she  could.  She  had 
finished  them  all  by  the  end  of  the  week,  but  when 
Cornelia  carried  her  work  to  Mr.  Pearson,  he  was 
critical  of  it  "  Of  course,"  he  said,  "  she  's  done  her 
best,  and  so  far  forth  she  's  earned  her  money ;  but 
anybody  can  see  with  half  an  eye  that  she  ain't  a 
natural  artist.  There  ain't  any  touch  about  it." 

"Good  gracious,  Zenas  Pearson  !"  cried  Cornelia. 
"  Do  you  expect  to  get  an  artist  to  paint  up  those 
scarecrows  of  yours  ? " 

She  put  Zenas  down,  but  he  offered  her  no  more 
work,  and  she  was  too  proud,  in  Helen's  behalf,  to 
ask  for  it.  She  was  more  deeply  hurt  and  dis 
couraged  than  Helen  herself  appeared.  The  latter, 
in  fact,  professed  a  sense  of  relief  when  Cornelia, 
with  a  blunt  reluctance,  owned  the  truth. 

"  I  couldn't  do  any  more,  if  he  had  given  them  to 
you  for  me.  I  know  that  I  don't  do  them  well,  and 
they  're  so  hideous,  that  if  I  were  the  greatest  artist 
in  the  world  I  couldn't  help  making  them  wooden 
and  staring.  I  must  try  something  else ;  and  I  've 
been  thinking — I  've  been  wondering — if  I  couldn't 
write  something  and  sell  it.  Do  you  know  any 


324  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

people — women — who  write  for  the  magazines,  or 
the  newspapers,  rather  ? " 

"  "Well,  I  know  one  girl :  she 's  an  art-student, 
and  she  helps  herself  out  by  correspondin' ;  writes 
for  two  or  three  papers  up-country,  and  out  West ; 
but  I  never  saw  any  of  her  stuff,  and  I  don't  want 
to ;  for  of  all  the  perfect  simpletons —  ! "  Cornelia  was 
expressively  silent ;  she  added  thoughtfully  :  "  Yes, 
1  guess  it  must  be  pretty  easy  to  do,  if  that  girl  can 
do  it.  I  wonder  I  didn't  think  of  it  before.  Why 
don't  you  ask  that  ridic'lous  Mr.  Evans  1  He 's  the 
literary  editor  of  Saturday  Afternoon,  and  I  guess  he 
could  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  I  don't  like  to  trouble  him,"  said  Helen. 

"Well,  /  do,  then,"  retorted  Cornelia.  "What's 
he  here  for?" 

"I  can't  let  you,"  said  Helen,  thoughtfully  folding 
the  dollar-bills  that  Cornelia  had  brought  her. 
"  This  money  will  last  a  little  while,  and  perhaps — 
perhaps,"  she  concluded  rather  faintly,  "  I  can  think 
of  something  to  do  by  the  time  it 's  gone.  I  know 
I  'm  very  weak  and  silly,"  she  said,  lifting  her  suf 
fused  eyes  to  Cornelia's. 

"  Not  at  all!"  cried  Cornelia;  and  that  evening 
she  cornered  Mr.  Evans,  as  she  said,  and  attacked 
him  about  some  sort  of  newspaper  work  for  a  friend 
of  hers. 

He  was  sitting  before  his  fire  in  a  deep  chair, 
with  his  feet  on  the  hearth  of  the  open  soap-stone 
stove ;  Cornelia  assailed  him  from  a  higher  chair  at 
a  little  distance.  "  Some  young  man  you  're  trying 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  325 

to  help  along?"  he  asked,  smiling  up  into  Cornelia's 
eyes. 

"  You  know  it  ain't  any  young  man!"  cried  the 
girl. 

"  Oh !  You  didn't  say,"  returned  Mr.  Evans 
coolly.  He  asked  presently,  "  Why  does  Miss  Hark- 
ness  want  to  write  for  the  papers  ?" 

"Mr.  Evans!  I  think  you're  too  bad!  I  never 
said  it  was  Miss  Harkness." 

"But  you  won't  say  it  isn't." 

"  I  won't  say  anything  about  it.  There  !  And  if 
you  can't  give  me  any  advice  without  askin'  who 
it  is—" 

"  Oh,  that  isn't  necessary  now.  But  what  I  do 
wish  to  ask,  Miss  Root — and  I  think  you  owe  it  to 
yourself  to  answer  frankly — is  simply  this  :  are  you 
sure  that  you  are  trying  to  befriend  Miss  Harkness 
from  the  highest  motive  ? " 

"Highest  motive  1 "  demanded  Cornelia,  whom  such 
an  appeal  must  always  arrest.  "  What  does  the  man 
mean  ? "  She  was  on  such  terms  of  offence  and  de 
fence  with  Mr.  Evans,  that  she  often  cast  aside  all 
formalities  of  speech  in  dealing  with  him  and  came 
down  to  sincerities  that  seemed  to  afford  him  the 
purest  delight. 

"  What  do  I  mean  ?  Why,  I  mean  this — and  a 
person  who  pretends  to  keep  such  a  conscience  as 
you  do,  always  dusted  off  and  ready  for  use  in  any 
emergency,  ought  to  be  able  to  answer  without  pre 
varication.  Are  you  sure  that  you  are  not  doing 
more  to  help  this  Miss  Harkness  because  she  is  a 


326  A  WOMAN'S   REASON. 

lady  of  fallen  fortunes,  than  you  would  do  for  some 
poor  girl  who  was  struggling  up,  and  trying  to  sup 
port  inebriate  parents,  and  pay  a  younger  brother's 
way  through  college?"  Cornelia  opened  her  mouth 
to  protest,  but  he  hastened  to  prevent  her.  "  Wait! 
Don't  commit  yourself !  Are  you  sure  that  her 
being  visited  by  a  lord  has  nothing  to  do  with  your 
beneficent  zeal  ?  Are  you  sure  that  you  are  not 
indulging  a  native  disposition  to  curry  favour  with 
worldlings  and  vanities,  generally  ?  Are  you  certain 
that  at  the  best  you  are  seeking  anything  better  than 
the  self-flattery  that  comes  through  the  ability  to 
patronise  a  social  superior  ?  I  merely  ask  you  to 
reflect." 

These  were  precisely  the  doubts  which  Cornelia  had 
already  exorcised ;  but  they  all  sprang  into  new  life 
at  the  touch  of  the  laughing  malice  that  divined 
them. 

"  I  declare,"  she  said,  "  you  are  enough  to  provoke 
a  saint ! " 

"I'm  glad  to  see  it,"  said  Mr.  Evans.  "Now, 
I  'm  not  a  saint,  and  I  can  be  frank  and  open  about 
a  great  many  things  that  I  observe  saints  like  to 
fight  shy  of.  A  saint — especially  a  female  one — is 
about  as  difficult  a  party  to  bring  to  book  as  any  I 
know.  Now  /  don't  mind  acknowledging  all  these 
shameful  motives  which  you  feel  that  you  must  blink. 
/  don't  mind  saying  that  the  notion  of  throwing 
something  in  the  way  of  a  young  lady  who  has 
moved  in  the  first  circles,  and  still  associates  with 
lords  and  ladies  on  equal  terms,  is  quite  intoxicating 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  327 

to  me,  and  that  I  will  help  you  in  this  work  with  far 
more  pleasure  than  if  she  were  a  mechanic's  or  farmer's 
daughter."  He  smiled  at  the  rueful  misgiving  painted 
in  Cornelia's  countenance.  "  Come,  Miss  Eoot,  what 
kind  of  newspaper  work  does  your  patrician  pro- 
Ug6e  think  she  can  do  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  want  to  talk  with  you  about 
it,"  said  Cornelia.  "  You  had  no  business  to  find  out 
who  it  was." 

"  I  know — I  know.  It  was  my  fatal  gift  of  divina 
tion.  A  random  guess,  and  your  own  guilty  soul 
did  the  rest.  "Well,  go  on,  Miss  Root.  You  know 
that  you  're  not  going  to  let  a  selfish  pique  interfere 
with  an  opportunity  to  do  good — to  one  above  us," 
he  added. 

"  I  should  suppose,"  said  Cornelia  grimly,  "  that  you 
would  know  a  great  deal  better  than  I  do  what  she  'd 
best  try.  I  presume  she  could  do  most  any  kind  of 
writin'." 

"  That  is  the  presumption  in  regard  to  all  refined 
and  cultivated  people  till  they  prove  the  con 
trary, — which  they  usually  do  at  the  first  oppor 
tunity." 

"  I  should  think,"  pursued  Cornelia,  whose  courage 
always  rose  in  view  of  any  but  moral  obstacles,  "that 
she  could  write  notices  of  books.  Seems  as  if  almost 
anybody  could  write  them" 

11  Yes,"  assented  the  journalist.  "  It  seems  as  if 
anybody  did  write  the  greater  part  of  them."  He 
took  up  some  books  from  his  tables.  "  Here  are 
three  novels,  if  she  wants  to  try  her  hand  on  them, 


328  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

and  she  can  review  the  batch  together.  That  is  the 
way  we  do.  There 's  quite  a  range  in  these  :  one  is 
an  old  writer  of  established  fame,  one  has  not  quite 
proved  himself  yet,  and  one  is  unknown.  You 
would  naturally  think  that  if  such  books  are  works 
of  art  they  would  go  to  people  of  experience  and 
reflection  for  review,  but  that  is  a  mistake :  they 
go  to  people  who  can  be  the  most  flippant  and  im 
pertinent  about  them,  and  we  find,  as  a  general  rule, 
that  the  young  ladies  who  write  for  us  can  be  more 
flippant  and  impertinent  than  the  young  men."  He 
laughed  as  he  handed  the  books  to  Miss  Root,  and 
watched  her  face. 

"  If  I  could  ever  tell,"  she  said,  taking  them  from 
him,  "  how  much  you  believed  of  what  you  said,  it 
would  be  one  satisfaction." 

"  No,  no,  that  isn't  it,  Miss  Root :  what  you 
would  like  to  know  is  how  much  you  believe  of  what 
I  say.  Very  little,  I  imagine.  The  philanthropist's 
ability  to  reject  any  truth  that  tells  against  him — or 
her — is  unbounded." 

"Well,"  said  Cornelia,  "I  don't  know  as  I  care,  so 
long  as  you  give  her  this  chance." 

"  Oh,  it 's  perfectly  safe  :  she  '11  be  sure  to  fail," 
said  the  editor.  "  Tell  her  I  want  the  notices  next 
week,  sometime.  In  the  meantime,  /  don't  know 
who 's  writing  them." 

He  did  not  betray  himself  in  any  way  during  the 
ensuing  week,  and  he  left  Cornelia  unmolested  with 
a  secret  which  she  did  not  know  whether  she  ought 
or  ought  not  to  keep.  Helen  worked  very  hard  at 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  329 

the  criticisms;  she  had  it  on  her  conscience  to  do 
them  very  fairly  and  justly,  because  when  she  had 
read  the  books  carefully  through  she  perceived  for 
the  first  time  how  much  thought  and  labour  must 
go  to  the  construction  of  even  indifferent  stories; 
and  she  felt  that  it  would  be  a  sin  not  to  do  justice 
to  all  this  in  the  case  of  novels  which  were  certainly 
not  first-rate.  She  thought  that  she  ought  to  be 
careful  about  her  style,  and  not  say  anything  in  a 
slipshod  or  slovenly  way.  She  wrote  out  her 
reviews  in  her  neatest  hand,  and  then  she  copied 
them  all,  so  that  there  was  not  one  blot  or  erasure. 
She  determined  that  if  Mr.  Evans  accepted  them, 
Miss  Root  should  tell  him  who  had  done  them,  for 
there  were  some  points  which  she  was  doubtful 
and  on  which  she  would  like  his  instruction, 
was  very  simple  and  humble  in  the  matter,  and 
in  her  own  mind  looked  up  to  the  journalist  in  his 
professional  quality  with  an  awe  that  she  had  not 
hitherto  felt  for  anything  connected  with  Saturday 
Afternoon.  Her  father  used  sometimes  to  buy  that 
paper,  and  send  it  to  her  when  she  was  away  from 
home,  and  she  had  read  its  social  gossip  with  a  high- 
minded  disapproval  of  the  entertainment  it  gave  her. 
She  never  thought  of  looking  at  the  notices  of  books 
in  it,  and  when  she  first  heard  that  Mr.  Evans  was 
connected  with  it  she  had  resolved  to  be  very  careful 
what  she  said  before  him,  and  she  had  partly  with 
drawn  from  anything  like  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Evans 
for  that  reason.J  It  was  very  well  for  Clara  Kings- 
bury  ;  Clara  Kingsbury  was  a  kind  of  public  character 


330  A  WOMAN'S   REASON. 

herself,  with  her  charities  and  enterprises,  her  Homes 
and  her  Fairs,  which  were  always  needing  newspaper 
mention ;  but  for  Helen  it  was  another  affair.  Even 
now,  while  the  question  of  the  acceptance  of  her 
work  was  pending,  Helen  asked  herself  whether  she 
would  like  to  have  the  Butlers  know  that  she  wrote 
for  the  Saturday  Afternoon,  and  was  quite  sure  that  she 
would  not.  "  If  he  should  take  them,  and  you  tell 
him  who  did  them,  please  ask  Mr.  Evans  not  to 
mention  it  to  any  one,"  she  said  in  giving  her  manu 
script  to  Cornelia  Root,  who  had  suffered  everything 
in  the  guilty  consciousness  that  he  knew  already 
who  had  done  them. 

"  I  ain't  afraid,"  she  said  to  Mr.  Evans,  in  discharg 
ing  herself  of  the  business,  "that  you'll  mention  it; 
but  if  you  should  have  to  refuse  them,  and  then  if  you 
should  show  out  any  way  that  you  knew,  it  would 
about  kill  me." 

"  Rely  upon  me,  Miss  Root,"  returned  the  editor. 
"  I  have  rejected  such  loads  of  young-lady  literature, 
that  I  have  become  perfectly  hardened,  and  never  show 
out  in  any  way  that  I  know  there  are  young  ladies  or 
literature  in  the  world.  Ah  !"  he  added,  carelessly 
opening  the  manuscript,  "  the  bold,  free  hand  of 
fashion ;  pages  neatly  pierced  at  the  upper  right-hand 
corner,  and  strung  upon  a  narrow  red  ribbon  with 
notched  edges;  faint  odour  of  the  young  person's 
favourite  perfume.  Yes,  this  is  the  real  thing  !" 
He  laughed  in  the  way  that  Cornelia  Root  had  more 
than  once  said  she  could  not  stand  when  talking  with 
him  about  serious  things. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  331 

She  went  out  after  leaving  the  manuscript  with 
him  in  the  morning,  and  shortly  afterwards  Helen 
received  the  card  of  Mr.  Hibbard,  who  was  waiting 
for  her  in  the  reception-room.  It  was  rather  a  shock 
at  first,  and  then  she  found  a  sort  of  relief  in  the 
second  anxiety,  as  people  do  in  playing  one  care  off 
against  the  other.  She  said  to  herself,  in  putting 
her  ear-rings  in  before  the  glass,  that  he  must  have 
heard  from  Captain  Butler,  and  that  if  Captain  Butler 
sided  with  Mr.  Hibbard,  she  should  not  know  what 
to  do ;  she  would  have  to  yield,  or  at  least  let  the 
whole  matter  rest  till  she  had  heard  from  Robert,  to 
whom  she  had  written  all  about  it. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Harkness,"  said  the  lawyer, 
absently  dropping  her  proffered  hand,  "  I  have  a 
cablegram  here  from  Captain  Butler." 

"  Oh,  I  thought  you  must  have,"  said  Helen, 
in  the  pause  which  he  suffered  to  take  place  before 
he  went  on,  with  a  frown  at  the  paper  in  his 
hand. 

"  He  telegraphs  me  from  Naples,  in  answer  to  my 
letter,  and  directs  me  to  obey  your  wishes  as  to  pay 
ing  Mr.  Everton's  claim." 

The  lawyer  lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  into  Helen's 
face,  as  if  to  wait  her  orders ;  and  her  heart  sank. 
This  was  what  she  had  been  eager  and  urgent  to  do 
when  they  last  met :  it  had  seemed  to  her  then  that 
she  could  not  rest  till  Mr.  Everton's  claim,  just  or 
unjust,  was  paid,  since  its  existence  involved  a  doubt 
of  fraud.  But,  in  fact,  she  had,  not  being  able  to 
help  herself,  rested  very  well,  and  she  had  begun  to 


332  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

hope  that  the  doubt  could  be  somehow  cleared  away 
without  the  cost  of  everything  to  her. 

' '  Is  that  all  he  says  ? "  she  asked  feebly. 

"  No ;  he  says  he  will  write."  He  handed  her  the 
despatch,  which  she  mechanically  read,  and  then 
twisted  round  her  finger. 

"What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Hibbard?"  she  asked 
at  last  pitifully. 

The  lawyer  must  have  seen  so  many  people  halt 
between  their  interest  and  their  sense  of  abstract 
right,  and  gladly  take  advantage  of  any  doubt  in 
their  own  favour,  that  he  could  not  have  wondered 
at  her  hesitation.  But  he  was  obliged  to  say,  "  I 
can  do  nothing  now  but  receive  your  instructions.  I 
will  contest  the  claim  to  the  last,  or  I  will  pay  it." 
He  again  explained  the  matter,  and  put  the  points 
clearly  before  her. 

"And  there  must  always  be  this  doubt  about  it, 
even  if  we  gained  the  case  1 "  she  asked. 

"  Always.  Even  if  that  scamp  himself  were  to 
declare  in  our  favour,  and  acknowledge  that  he  had 
played  upon  Everton's  suspicion,  the  doubt  would 
remain." 

"  Then,  I  can't  bear  it  !  You  must  pay  Mr. 
Everton  ! "  cried  Helen.  "Anything,  anything  is 
better  than  living  upon  stolen  money  !"  At  the 
same  time  that  she  pronounced  this  heroic  truth, 
which  indeed  came  from  her  inmost  heart,  she  burst 
into  human  tears  for  the  loss  of  all  that  she  could 
call  her  own. 

"  Miss  Harkness,"  said  the  old  lawyer,  "  I  would 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  333 

not  let  you  do  this — I  would  take  the  responsibility 
of  disobeying  you  and  Captain  Butler  both  ;  but — but 
I  must  tell  you  that  my  inquiries  into  the  matter  have 
not  been  satisfactory.  I  have  talked  confidentially 
with  several  of  the  gentlemen  who  were  present  at 
the  sale,  and  I  find  that  they  all  carried  away  the 
impression  that  there  was  something  queer  about  the 
bidding  towards  the  last.  Now,  as  I  said  before,  I 
don't  believe  that  Everton's  understanding  with 
Mortimer  will  ever  allow  him  to  press  the  question 
to  an  issue,  and  that  you  could  rest  legally  secure  in 
the  possession  of  this  money ;  but  this,  as  I  conceive, 
isn't  the  point  with  you." 

"  0  no,  no,  no !  And  thank  you,  thank  you, 
Mr.  Hibbard,  for  letting  me  decide  the  matter — and 
thank  God  for  helping  me  to  decide  it  rightly — before 
you  told  me  this.  Whatever  happens  now,  I  shall 
have  the  consolation  of  knowing  that  I  wasn't 
influenced  by  the  fear  of  what  people  would  think 
or  say.  I  know  that  I  should  have  been,  but  I  know 
that  I  wasn't."  She  dried  her  eyes,  and  controlled 
her  quivering  lips.  "  Don't  lose  an  instant,  please, 
about  paying  him,  and  pay  him  every  cent.  And 
oughtn't  I — oughtn't  I — to  say  something,  do  some 
thing  to  show  that  I  was  sorry  that  he  was  kept  out 
of  the  money  so  long  ?" 

"I  don't  think  Mr.  Everton  will  care  for  that," 
taid  Mr.  Hibbard.  "  The  money  is  what  he  wants. 
I  will  pay  it ;  and  then  what  will  you  do,  Miss 
Harkness  ?  You  were  coming  to  me  for  money,  you 
said  j  you  mustn't  allow  any  mistaken  feeling — 


334  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  0  no,  I  won't." 

"  I  am  sure  that  Captain  Butler  will  wish  me  to 
be  your  banker  till  he  comes  home." 

"  Yes,  certainly ;  but  I  have  a  little  money  yet," 
said  Helen,  following  Mr.  Hibbard  to  the  door. 


XVI. 

THE  lawyer  was  mistaken  in  supposing  that  Mr. 
Everton  cared  for  nothing  in  the  affair  except  the 
money.  He  came  that  afternoon  to  make  his  ac 
knowledgments  to  Helen,  who  felt  it  her  duty  to 
receive  him  when  he  called,  and  he  showed  himself 
capable  of  responding  generously  to  her  own  action. 

u  I  am  well  aware,"  he  said,  "  that  I  owe  this 
reparation  to  you,  Miss  Harkness,  and  I  wished  you 
to  understand  that  I  could  appreciate  your  conduct. 
The  original  claim  is  now  fully  satisfied,  but  the 
interest  on  the  money  that  I  have  been  kept  out  of 
would  have  amounted  during  the  past  seven  months 
to  something  like  two  hundred  dollars — a  little  short 
of  two  hundred  dollars.  I  have  written  to  your 
attorney  that  we  will  say  nothing  about  this  sum, 
that  we  will  consider  it  paid." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Helen  blankly.  It  was  not, 
perhaps,  that  she  was  insensible  to  Mr.  Everton's 
magnanimity,  but  just  then  she  was  studying  his 
personal  appearance  with  a  strange  fascination. 
She  found  something  horrible  in  the  neatness  of  this 
little  old  man's  dress,  in  the  smug  freshness  of  his 
newly-shaven  face,  which  had  the  puckered  bloom 


336  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

of  an  apple  that  hangs  upon  the  tree  far  into  the 
winter's  cold,  and  even  in  the  smoothness  and  clean 
ness  of  his  conspicuous  linen. 

He  returned  her  absent  gaze,  winking  his  little, 
red-lidded  eyes.  He  presently  said,  "  I  have  had  to 
lay  out  a  great  deal  of  money  on  the  house,  and  I 
thought  this  might  as  well  go  into  the  general  account. 
The  structure  was  very  good,  but  there  were  many 
things  that  needed  going  over,  the  plumbing  espe 
cially.  I  have  had  the  plumbing  put  into  perfect 
order.  Mrs.  Everton  was  very  particular  about  it — 
the  ladies  are,  I  believe.  I  think  you  would  be 
pleased  to  see  the  improvement.". 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen. 

"  I  have  had  brass  pipes  put  in  nearly  everywhere  ; 
Mrs.  Everton  had  heard  that  they  were  very  much 
superior,  and  I  was  willing  to  do  anything  to  gratify 
her  :  she  was  very  low  at  the  time." 

He  coughed  behind  his  hand,  and  Helen  awoke 
from  her  daze  to  say  gently,  "  Oh,  I  hope  she's  better." 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  the  old  man.  "  But  she 
is  dead." 

"Oh!" 

"  Yes,  she  was  so  far  gone  that  she  could  not  be 
moved  from  our  old  house.  I  never  expected  she 
could,  but  I  made  the  changes  to  please  her,  and 
she  went  over  them  all  in  the  architect's  plans.  I 
spared  no  expense.  I  don't  suppose,"  said  Mr. 
Everton,  with  a  sort  of  brisk  appeal  to  Helen,  "  that 
you  would  know  the  place  now  :  the  old  cornices  all 
down,  and  fresh  paint  and  paper  everywhere." 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  337 

Helen  did  not  reply ;  but  she  looked  at  the  man 
with  a  pathetic  wonder,  which  he  apparently  did  not 
feel 

"  I  think,"  he  continued,  with  a  certain  insinuation, 
"  it  would  interest  you  to  see  the  changes." 

"  0  no  !"  Helen  broke  out. 

Mr.  Everton  looked  at  her  and  passed  his  tongue 
over  his  red  lips,  fringed  with  dry  cuticle  at  their 
edges,  in  apparent  perplexity.  "  I  don't  mean  to  say," 
he  resumed,  "  that  the  general  plan  of  the  house  is 
changed ;  that  couldn't  be  done ;  Mrs.  Everton  saw 
that  herself.  In  many  respects  she  was  a  woman  you 
could  reason  with.  It  was  a  great  blow  to  lose  her." 

"  It  must  have  been,"  said  Helen,  relenting  again ; 
but  wondering  a  little  why  Mr.  Everton  should  speak 
to  her  of  these  matters. 

He  explained  for  himself.  "  Your  burying  your 
father  such  a  short  time  before  I  buried  Mrs.  Everton 
— it  seems  a  sort  of  coincidence,  a  kind  of  bond,  as 
one  may  say,  and  makes  me  feel  as  if — as  if — you 
could  appreciate  my  feelings." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you  with  all  my  heart,"  said  Helen. 
"  I  didn't  know,"  she  added  vaguely,  "  that  you  had 
met  with  any  bereavement. " 

"  Yes  ;  she 's  dead,"  sighed  the  old  man.  "  It  isn't 
as  if  I  were  broken,  or  hadn't  kept  my  health.  I  'm 
as  well  as  ever  I  was.  And  as  strong.  I'm  as  good 
for  business  as  any  two  yQung  men  I  know  of.  But 
it's  when  I  come  home  from  business  that  I  feel  it ; 
that's  where  the  rub  comes  in  j  it's  lonely.  Ye's,  it 's 
lonely." 

Y 


338  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  O  yes,"  said  Helen,  surprised  into  sympathetic 
confidence  by  the  simple  words.  "  I  often  felt  it  in 
my  father's  case,  especially  towards  the  end,  when 
he  seemed  to  live  so  much  in  the  recollection  of  the 
past,  and  I  knew  that  I  was  scarcely  any  companion 
ship  for  him." 

"Your  father,"  said  Mr.  Everton  dryly,  "was  a 
much  older  man  than  I  am,  and  he  was  all  broken 
up  before  he  died  ;  I  used  to  notice  it.  I  don't  be 
lieve,"  he  went  on,  "  but  what  you'd  like  the  house 
as  well  as  ever,  if  you  saw  it.  I  should  be  very  sorry 
to  think  I'd  done  anything  to  it  that  you  didn't 
like." 

"  It's  very,  very  kind  of  you  to  say  so,  Mr.  Everton." 
returned  Helen  cordially.  "  And  you  mustn't 
think  at  all  about  it.  When  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
part  with  it,  I  made  up  my  mind  never  to  care  what 
became  of  it." 

"Well,  that  was  the  right  spirit,"  said  Mr.  Ever 
ton. 

"  And  if  the  changes  you  have  made  in  it  gratified 
your  wife  in  her  last  days,  I  can  only  be  glad  of  them. 
I  shall  always  think  of  my  old  home  as  it  used  to 
be ;  if  it  were  burned  to  the  ground,  it  would  remain 
there,  just  as  I  left  it,  as  long  as  I  live." 

"  Well,  I  'm  pleased  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  the 
old  man.  "  I  like  to  see  a  young  lady  sensible — " 

"  Oh,  I  'm  not  sensible,",  protested  Helen  ;  "  but  I 
like  what  you  've  done  because  you  did  it  to  gratify 
your  wife  in  her  last  days  ;  that  makes  it  sacred." 

"  I  was  always  on  good  terms  with  her,"  said  the 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  339 

widower ;  "  and  I  always  determined  to  wait  a  proper 
time,  if  I  should  want  to  marry  again.  But  if  you 
believe  you  Ve  found  the  right  one,  there  's  no  sense 
in  waiting  too  long." 

He  looked  inquiringly  at  Helen,  who  was  some 
what  mystified  at  the  turn  the  conversation  had  taken. 
But  she  said  politely,  "  0  no." 

"  I  should  want  you  should  like  the  house  on  your 
own  account,"  he  continued,  still  more  irrelevantly. 

"  On  my  own  account  ? "  faltered  Helen. 

"  Because  I  want  it  to  be  yours,"  cried  the  old  man, 
with  a  sort  of  violence.  "  I  appreciate  the  course  you 
have  taken  in  regard  to  the  fraud  that  was  practised 
upon  me  at  the  sale,  and  I  say  that  you  have  acted 
nobly.  Yes,  nobly  !  And  I  should  wish  to  give  the 
house  to  you  as  a  mark  of — of — my  esteem  ;  that,  and 
everything  else  I  have.  I  'm  alone  in  the  world,  and 
nobody  has  any  real  claim  on  me,  no  matter  what 
her  relations  may  expect,  and  I  will  deed  the  house 
to  you  to-day,  if  you  say  so  ! " 

It  all  seemed  like  a  dream  of  romance  to  Helen ;  it 
was  fabulous,  it  was  incredible,  it  must  be  impossible. 
She  began  to  think  that  the  old  man  was  insane,  and 
involuntarily  left  her  chair.  But  there  was  nothing 
abnormal  about  him,  unless  it  was  the  repressed 
excitement  in  which  he  sat  blinking  at  her,  as  he  went 
on  :  "  The  house  can  be  your  home  to-morrow — to 
day,  if  you  like.  You  have  only  to  say  the  word." 
He  seemed  to  form  some  sort  of  hope  or  expectation 
from  her  continued  silence,  and  now  he  rose.  "  If 
you  're  willing,  there  's  nobody  to  interfere,  and  I 


340  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

should  soon  teach  them  to  attend  to  their  own  busi 
ness  if  they  attempted  it.  My  mind  is  as  clear  and 
my  health  is  as  good  as  ever  it  was,  and  I  would  do 
everything  I  could  for  you.  I  admire  you,  and  I 
respect  you.  I  think  you  have  right  principles,  and 
that 's  a  very  important  thing.  I  should  be  proud  of 
you.  To  be  sure,  we  haven't  been  much  acquainted ; 
and  I  suppose  it 's  only  reasonable  you  should  want 
time  to  think  it  over.  I  'm  in  no  hurry;  though,  as 
I  said,  my  own  mind  is  made  up." 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  mean,"  gasped 
Helen.  "  What  do  you  mean  1  Why  should  you 
give  me  your  property  1  and  why — 

Her  eyes  dwelt  hopelessly  upon  his  face,  in  which 
a  smirk  of  cunning  insinuation  struggled  with  an 
anxious  perplexity.  He  again  passed  his  tongue  over 
his  dry,  red  lips,  and  then  cleared  his  throat,  and 
breathed  hard  :  "I  mean — all  I  have  ;  not  that  house, 
but  half-a-dozen  houses,  and  everything  I  'm  worth. 
I  'm  not  afraid  of  what  people  would  say.  If  we  're 
both  of  one  mind,  the  difference  in  age  is  nothing." 
At  a  sign  of  renewed  impatience  from  Helen,  he 
added  desperately  :  "  I  want  you  to  be  my  wife  ! " 

She  recoiled,  with  a  shudder,  and  her  teeth  closed 
in  a  nervous  paroxysm.  "  Oh  ! "  she  uttered,  in 
abhorrence  far  beyond  rejection ;  and,  creeping  softly 
by  the  wall  to  the  door,  with  her  eyes  fixed  warily 
upon  him,  as  if  he  were  some  nightmare  spider  that 
might  spring  upon  her,  she  vanished  out  of  it,  and 
fled  up-stairs  to  her  own  room,  where  she  bolted  her 
self  in. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  341 

The  half-hour  of  self-loathing  that  she  passed,  with 
her  burning  face  in  her  pillow,  could  not  have  been 
more  cruel  if  what  had  happened  were  some  shame 
ful  deed  of  her  own.  She  searched  her  soul  for  cause 
of  blame,  but  she  could  find  nothing  worse  there 
than  the  consciousness  of  having  suffered  herself  for 
one  inappreciable  instant  to  dream  of  her  home  com 
ing  back  to  her  by  the  wild  poetic  chance  which  the 
old  man's  words  had  intimated.  This  point  of  time, 
fine  and  tenuous  as  it  was,  had  been  vast  enough  for 
her  to  paint  a  picture  on,  where  she  and  Eobert,  dim 
figures  of  grateful  reverence,  had  seemed  piously  to 
care  for  the  declining  years  of  their  benefactor,  and 
to  comfort  his  childless  solitude  at  their  fireside. 
But  the  silly  vision,  for  which  she  grieved  and  blushed, 
was  innocent,  as  she  felt  even  in  the  depths  of  her 
self-abasement,  and  the  thought  of  it  ended  in  the 
reaction  through  which  she  rose  from  the  bed,  and 
dashed  off  a  letter  commanding  Mr.  Hibbard  to  pay 
the  interest  on  the  money  due  Mr.  Everton,  to  the 
last  cent,  and  not  to  accept  any  sort  of  concession 
from  him.  But  the  horror  of  his  offer  survived,  ai> 
incredible  fact,  which  she  could  not  reject.  His  age, 
in  asking  to  mate  itself  with  her  youth,  had  seemed 
to  dishonour  both,  and  had  become  unspeakably  ugly 
and  revolting  to  her.  She  wondered  what  kind  of 
young  girl  it  could  be  that  would  marry  an  old  man, 
and  what  he  had  seen  in  her  that  made  him  think 
she  could  be  such  a  girl.  Nothing,  she  was  sure ; 
and  therefore  this  humiliation,  when  she  was  so 
blameless,  must  be  her  punishment  for  sins  from  the 


342  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

consequence  of  which  she  had  seemed  to  escape ;  for 
the  way  in  which  she  had  tortured  Robert ;  for  her 
flirting,  as  she  did  that  first  day,  with  Lord  Rainford  ; 
for  liking  to  be  admired,  and  for,  perhaps,  trying  to 
make  people  admire  her.  Yes,  that  must  be  it;  and 
as  soon  as  she  had  fitted  the  burden  to  her  spirit,  she 
rose  up  with  strength  to  bear  it.  Whatever  men 
have  contrived  to  persuade  themselves,  in  these  latter 
days,  as  to  the  relations  of  cause  and  effect  in  the 
moral  world,  there  are  yet  few  women  who  do  not 
like  to  find  a  reason  for  their  sufferings  in  their  sins, 
and  they  often  seem  still  to  experience  the  heroic 
satisfaction  in  their  penalties,  which  nothing  but  the 
old-fashioned  Christian's  privity  to  the  designs  of 
Providence  can  give. 

When  Cornelia  Root  came  home  to  tea  she 
knocked  at  Helen's  door,  and  passed  in  round  the 
jamb  a  hand  with  which  she  produced  the  effect  of 
rejecting  all  responsibility  for  the  letter  it  conveyed. 
"  I  guess  it's  from  Mr.  Evans,"  she  said,  refusing  to 
look  in.  "  /  don't  know  what 's  in  it." 

Helen  was  ready,  in  her  penitence,  almost  to  wel 
come  the  worst ;  but  the  envelope  only  conveyed  a 
printed  slip  from  the  publishers  of  the  Saturday 
Afternoon,  ~in  which  they  thanked  her  for  her 
contribution,  and  begged  to  enclose  their  cheque  in 
payment.  She  rapped  in  her  turn  at  Miss  Root's 
door.  "  Just  to  tell  you  the  good  news,"  she  ex 
plained  to  Cornelia's  inquiring  face,  while  a  laugh 
fluttered  out  of  her  throat,  which  just  failed  of  being 
a  sob.  "  They  Ve  accepted  them  !  "  She  escaped 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  343 

again  into  her  own  room,  before  Cornelia  could 
formulate  that  strictly  truthful  expression  of  her 
feelings  without  which  she  would  not  speak  at  all. 
She  joined  Helen  a  little  later,  and  underwent  the 
pangs  of  remorse  in  arranging  with  her  to  call  on 
Mr.  Evans  that  evening  and  confess  the  authorship  of 
the  reviews  preparatory  to  asking  his  candid  criticism 
and  his  advice  about  future  work.  Cornelia's  heart 
smote  her  in  the  presence  of  Helen's  unsuspicious 
rejoicings  ;  she  languished  for  the  moment  when  she 
could  own  that  Mr.  Evans  had  wickedly  divined  their 
secret  from  the  first,  and  she  found  no  relief,  but 
rather  an  added  anguish  in  the  skilful  duplicity  with 
which  he  received  Helen's  avowal. 

He  was  alone  when  they  knocked  at  his  door,  for 
Mrs.  Evans  was  putting  their  boy  to  bed  after  the 
usual  conflict  with  his  entreaties  and  stratagems. 
"Is  it  possible  ?"  he  demanded  with  a  radiant  deceit. 
"  Why,  this  is  delightful,  Miss  Harkness.  We  are 
quite  an  aesthetic  colony  here,  under  Mrs.  Hewitt's 
hospitable  roof — with  Miss  Root's  art-work  and  your 
literature  and  my  journalism.  Really!"  He  deepened 
Cornelia's  sense  of  nefarious  complicity  by  the  smile 
aside  which  she  could  not  reject.  "  Have  you  written 
much  for  publication  ] " 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  must  see  that  I  haven't,"  said 
Helen,  with  a  straightforward  honesty  that  Cornelia 
felt  ought  to  have  made  Mr.  Evans  ashamed  of  him 
self  ;  "  and  I  wished  you  to  tell  me  just  where  I 
have  failed  in  my  work,  and,  if  you  will  be  so  good, 
how  I  can  improve  it." 


344  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

This  seemed  to  Helen  a  perfectly  simple  and  natural 
request,  and  she  was  not,  perhaps,  altogether  without 
the  feeling  that  Mr.  Evans  ought  to  be  gratified  at 
her  approaching  him  for  instruction. 

"  Well,  there  you  set  me  rather  a  difficult  task, 
Miss  Harkness,"  he  said  evasively.  "We  usually 
expect  the  fact  that  we  are  willing  to  print  a  con 
tribution  to  suffice  as  criticism  in  its  favour." 

"Yes,"  pursued  Helen,  "but  you  want  beginners 
to  do  better  and  better,  don't  you  ?  I  'm  not  saying  it 
to  fish  up  a  compliment  from  you ;  but  I  wish  really 
and  truly  that  you  would  tell  me  what  my  faults 
are.  Please  specify  something,"  she  said  with  an 
ingenuous  sweetness  which  smote  Cornelia  to  the 
soul,  but  which  apparently  glanced  effectlessly  from 
the  editor's  toughened  spirit.  He  laughed,  as  if 
other  ladies  had  said  the  like  to  him  before. 
"Indeed,  I  shall  not  be  hurt  at  anything  you  say  !" 
cried  Helen. 

"It's  a  little  academic,"  said  the  editor.  "But 
that 's  a  good  fault.  It  had  better  be  that  than  be 
smart." 

"0  yes!  I  detest  smartness  in  everything." 
She  wondered  just  what  Mr.  Evans  meant  by 
academic,  but  she  did  not  like  to  ask,  and  she 
consoled  herself  by  reflecting  that  he  had  said  it 
was  a  good  fault  to  be  academic. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  continued,  "  that  it  is  the 
best  plan  to  tell  the  plots  and  explain  the  char 
acters  so  fully  as  you've  done;  but  that  can  be 
easily  remedied." 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  345 

"I  see,"  said  Helen.  "It  destroys  the  reader's 
interest  in  the  story." 

"  Yes,"  assented  the  editor,  "  and  in  the  review  a 
little.  And  I  don't  think  it 's  best  to  sum  up  very 
deliberately  at  the  end,  and  to  balance  considera 
tions  so  formally." 

"  No  ?"  said  Helen.  She  had  thought  it  was  well ; 
and  she  began  to  wonder  why  it  was  not. 

"But  that  part  can  be  easily  omitted.  And  I 
shouldn't  quote  from  the  book  unless  I  could  give 
something  very  significant  or  characteristic.  Your 
sentences  are  a  little  long.  And  it  is  rather  late  in 
the  day  to  open  with  an  essay,  however  brief,  on  the 
general  effect  and  tendency  of  fiction.  I  think  I 
should  always  begin  directly  with  the  book  in  hand, 
and  let  those  ideas  come  in  incidentally." 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Helen  eagerly. 

Mr.  Evans  put  down  her  manuscript,  which  he  had 
taken  up  from  the  table,  and  added  lightly,  "  I  shall 
have  to  work  it  over  a  little  before  it  goes  to  the 
printers,  and  then  when  you  have  it  in  the  proof 
you  will  see  what  I've  done,  and  get  a  better 
notion  of  what  I  mean  than  I  could  give  you  in 
words." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  very  much.  That  will  be  so 
kind  of  you!"  exclaimed  Helen.  She  added:  "I 
was  careful  to  write  only  on  one  side  of  the  paper. 
I  heard  that  the  printers  preferred  it." 

"  Quite  right/'  said  Evans  with  a  smile  at  this 
innocence.  Cornelia  Root  felt  the  irony  of  it,  but  it 
was  simply  amiable  to  Helen.  "They  do,  very 


346  A  WOMAN'S   REASON. 

much.  It 's  beautiful  copy.  By  the  way,  here  is  the 
Afternoon  for  this  week,  if  you  want  to  look  it  over. 
You're  one  of  us  now,  you  know." 

"Thank  you,  I  shall  be  very  glad  of  it,"  said 
Helen,  taking  the  paper  he  offered  her. 

Mr.  Evans  seemed  to  have  all  his  work  about 
him,  and  she  thought  that  she  ought  not  to  keep 
him  any  longer.  She  said  good-night,  but  Cornelia 
lingered  a  little ;  she  could  not  help  it ;  she  could 
not  rest  till  she  knew  from  the  editor,  taken  alone 
and  defenceless,  whether  he  thought  Helen  would 
ever  be  able  to  help  herself  by  writing,  and  she  told 
him  so  in  as  many  words. 

"  I  saw  you  attempting  to  pierce  my  inmost  soul 
all  the  time,  Miss  Root,"  said  the  editor.  "  And  I 
tell  you  frankly,  you  won't  get  the  truth  out  of  me. 
Miss  Harkness  is  a  very  cultivated  young  lady." 
He  bent  over  her  MS.,  which  he  had  again  drawn 
towards  him.  "  She  possesses  a  neat  and  polished 
style.  I  could  imagine  that  in  letter- writing  she 
would  have  all  the  charm  that  tradition  attributes 
to  your  sex  in  that  art.  In  addressing  the  object 
of  her  affections" — Cornelia  gave  a  start  of  indignant 
protest  and  disclaimer,  which  had  no  effect  upon  Mr. 
Evans,  who  went  smoothly  on — "she  must  be 
fascinating,  and  I  have  no  doubt  the  fashionable 
friends  to  whom  she  describes  our  humble  boarding- 
house  manage  think  she  writes  delightfully.  But 
in  appealing  to  the  general  reader  through  the 
medium  of  the  public  prints,  Miss  Harkness  seems 
to  think  it  advisable  to  present  her  ideas  and  im- 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  347 

pressions  in  the  desiccated  form.  Her  review  has 
all  the  fixed  and  immovable  grace,  all  the  cold  and 
dignified  slipperiness,  of  a  literary  exercise."  He 
looked  up,  and  laughed  out  his  enjoyment  of  the 
righteous  despair  in  Cornelia's  face. 

She  dropped  upon  the  corner  of  a  chair.  "She's 
got  to  do  something,"  she  said. 

"  0  no,  she  hasn't,"  returned  Mr.  Evans  cheerily. 
"  She  hasn't  kept  her  secret  so  well  as  you  have,  Miss 
Eoot;  and  yesterday  a  fashionable  friend  of  hers 
stopped  her  coup6  at  the  pavement,  and  called  me 
up  to  the  window  to  say  that  she  was  so  glad  I 
was  giving  Miss  Harkness  a  chance  to  write  for 
Saturday  Afternoon,  and  was  sure  that  I  would  find 
her  very  clever.  She  was  always  such  a  brilliant 
girl,  and  said  such  delightful  things  !  Miss  Kings- 
bury  asked  me  if  I  didn't  think  it  was  dreadful,  her 
having  lost  everything,  and  being  thrown  upon  her 
own  resources  in  this  way,  and  I  said  I  did ;  but 
I  don't.  And  then  Miss  Kingsbury  explained  that 
of  course  she,  and  numerous  other  persons  of  wealth 
and  respectability,  would  be  only  too  glad  to  have 
Helen  Harkness  come  and  spend  her  days  with  them, 
but  she  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  dependence  ;  and 
wasn't  her  trying  to  do  something  for  herself  splen 
did  1  And  I  said  that  I  thought  it  was ;  but  I 
don't.  And  Miss  Kingsbury  said  she  knew  it  would 
~appeal  to  me,  and  I  said  that  it  did ;  but  it  doesn't. 
/Why  should  it  appeal  to  me, — why  should  I  think  it 
splendid  that  a  healthy  young  woman  refuses  to  be 
a  loafer  and  a  pauper "?  Why,  under  heaven,  shouldn't 


348  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

she  do  something  for  herself  1  The  town  is  full  of 
young  women  who  are  obliged  to  do  something  for 
themselves.  That 's  the  kind  of  splendour  that 
appeals  to  me — the  involuntary  kind, — like  my  own. 
Is  it  any  worse  for  Miss  Harkness  to  work  for  a 
living  than  for  the  tens  of  thousands  of  other  girls 
who  are  doing  it  1  You  have  worked  for  a  living 
yourself,  Miss  jtoot.  Do  you  want  me  to  regard  you 
as  splendid  1 "  _J 

Cornelia  examined  her  just  spirit  in  silence  for  a 
moment.  "  It's  different  witk-  us,"  she  answered, 
"  because  we  were  brought  up  to  work.  We  never 
expected  anything  else,  and  it  isn't  so  much  of  a 
hardship  for  us,  as  it  is  for  a  girl  like  her  who  is  used 
to  being  taken  care  of,  and  never  had  to  do  or  think 
for  herself." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Miss  Root,  it  is  the  princess  in  exile 
who  appeals  to  us  both  !  But  is  she  more  to  be 
praised  for  refusing  to  eat  the  buttered  roll  of  others' 
prosperity  than  the  peasant-maids  who  have  never 
had  the  chance  of  refusing  1" 

"  She  's  more  to  be  pitied  !" 

"  Right  again,  Miss  Root !  You  are  always  right. 
By  the  way,  why  didn't  you  urge  Miss  Harkness  to 
attempt  something  in  art  1  Miss  Kingsbury  asked 
me  if  I  couldn't  get  her  some  book  to  illustrate  ! 
She  said  that  Miss  Harkness's  sketches  were  exqui 
site,  and  she  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  seen  any  of 
them.  Have  you  ? " 

"  Yes,"  Cornelia  reluctantly  admitted. 

"Wettl* 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  349 

"They're  hopeless!"  cried  Cornelia,  with  an  in 
voluntary  vehemence  that  delighted  Evans. 

"  And  you  thought  that  if  she  couldn't  draw  she 
could  write  !  That  was  quite  natural." 

"  It  was  her  own  idea,"  urged  Cornelia. 

"And  it  was  your  idea  that  she  should  write  for 
me  !  Very  good,  very  right,  very  like  a  philan 
thropist  !" 

"  Now,  you  know  well  enough,  Mr.  Evans,"  began 
Cornelia,  "  that  you  were  perfectly  free  to  refuse 
Miss  Harkness's  writin' ;  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  praise 
you  up  for  takin'  it,  if  that 's  what  you  're  after." 

"  That 's  what  I  'm  after ;  but  I  knew  I  shouldn't 
get  it  before  you  told  me.  Who  praises  an  editor 
for  anything  ]  You  and  Miss  Kingsbury  will  only 
think  I  've  done  my  duty  when  I  've  sat  up 
till  midnight  putting  this  pretty  rubbish  into 
shape." 

"  Is  it  so  bad  as  that  ? "  asked  Cornelia,  aghast. 
"  Why  didn't  you  give  it  back  to  her,  and  tell  her  it 
was  rubbish  ?  It  would  have  been  the  best  for  her 
in  the  end  ! " 

"  Because  I  have  a  timid  and  truckling  spirit,  Miss 
Root,  and  you  know  it.  Because  I  have  scarcely  the 
heart  to  refuse  the  rubbish  of  ladies  who  tell  me  they 
have  produced  it  in  the  interest  of  some  worthy 
charity,  or  for  the  purpose  of  eking  out  their  pin- 
money  ;  and  I  'm  naturally  helpless  in  the  presence 
of  a  lady  who  has  written  it  for  bread — as  I  am  given 
to  understand."  Cornelia  was  silent,  and  the  editor 
continued  gleefully :  "  A  woman  can  sometimes  do 


350  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

something  without  damaging  others.  But  when  a 
lady  undertakes  to  help  herself,  some  man  has  to 
suffer  for  it ;  and  why  shouldn't  I  be  the  victim  1  I 
usually  devote  Saturday  night  to  working  on  a  little 
play  I  'm  trying  to  write,  but  I  daresay  the  time  will 
be  much  better  employed  in  rewriting  Miss  Hark- 
ness's  reviews." 

He  watched  the  travail  of  Miss  Root's  soul  in  her 
t  eyes  with  a  smile  of  unrelenting  enjoyment. 
Besides,  I  like  to  befriend  gentility  in  adversity  as 
as  you  do,  Miss  Root.  The  thought  that  I  am 
actually  earning  money,  without  her  knowing  it,  for 
a  young  lady  of  Miss  Harkness's  condescension,  does 
my  mean  and  servile  little  soul  more  good  than  I 
can  well  describe."  _J 

Cornelia  burst  forth  with  a  sort  of  groan,  "  Oh,  it 's 
all  wrong,  I  know  it  is  !  But  what  is  a  girl  fit  for 
that 's  been  brought  up  just  as  a  lady  ?  If  there 's 
anything  under  the  sun  that  she  can  honestly  do, 
without  imposing  upon  other  people,  and  putting 
them  to  twice  the  trouble  she  takes  for  herself,  for 
goodness'  sake,  let  her  do  it !" 

"  Very  just  sentiments  •  but  what  is  it  ?" 

"  Well,  one  thing  it  isn't ;  and  that 's  writing  for 
the  papers,  and  I  shall  tell  her  so  !" 

"You  have  no  right  to  abuse  my  confidence,  Miss 
Root,"  said  the  editor  with  superficial  gravity, 
through  which  his  laughter  broke  when  she  turned 
desperately  upon  him.  "  Miss  Harkness's  failure  is 
my  secret.  If  it  is  a  failure.  /  supposed  it  was  a 
shining  success !  There  are  very  few  young  ladies 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  351 

who  can  get  editors  to  write  their  articles  for  them, 
and  then  let  them  pocket  the  proceeds." 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Cornelia,  "  that  you  would 
be  ashamed  to  make  fun  of  everything  the  way  you 
do.  It  seems  as  if  you  didn't  have  a  morsel  of  com- 
passion  for  the  poor  thing." 

"Ah,  there  it  is  again!  Accept  her  inefficiency 
and  applaud  her  failure  because  you  pity  her  !  Do 
you  think  the  ladies  are  ever  going  to  do  anything 
for  themselves  as  long  as  the  world  is  asked  and 
expected  to  take  that  attitude  1  Did  you  tell  her  that 
she  was  an  artist,  and  then  work  up  her  sketches  for 
her?  Have  a  morsel  of  compassion  yourself,  Miss 
Root !  I  'm  going  to  have  large  masses  of  it.  I  'm 
going  rewrite  Miss  Harkness's  whole  review  !" 

His  laugh  followed  Cornelia  as  she  climbed  the 
stairs  in  slow  and  heavy  perplexity  to  her  room. 

Helen  in  her  room  was  light-heartedly  writing  to 
Robert,  and  telling  him  that  though  she  had  now 
absolutely  nothing  in  the  world,  she  had  never  felt 
so  happy  since  her  father  died,  for  now  she  had 
found  at  last  that  she  could  do  something  and  be 
of  some  use.  She  could  not  grieve,  even  for  his  sake, 
for  the  loss  of  the  money  paid  back  to  Mr.  Ever- 
ton ;  the  thought  of  it  now  was  such  a  perfect  horror. 
She  said  that  some  time  she  should  tell  him  why, 
but  not  now ;  and  she  turned  from  the  odious  sub 
ject  to  describe  her  interview  with  Mr.  Evans,  who 
had  been  so  frankly  kind  and  encouraging.  She  had 
not  said  anything  to  Robert  about  Lord  Rainford 
yet,  and  she  wondered  whether  she  ought.  Some 


352  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

time,  of  course,  she  must  do  so ;  but  she  was  afraid 
it  might  be  difficult  to  make  the  whole  affair  clear  to 
Robert  at  that  distance.  It  was  something  that  could 
be  much  better  spoken  than  written ;  she  resolved 
at  least  to  leave  her  letter  open  till  morning,  and 
decide  then  what  she  should  do. 

She  was  not  sleepy,  but  she  felt  a  pleasant  languor, 
such  as  comes  after  the  fortunate  close  of  a  period  of 
strong  excitements,  and  she  sat  down  before  the  fire, 
which  was  giving  out  its  last  delicious  glow,  to 
indulge  her  fatigue  a  little  more  luxuriously.  She 
looked  back  over  what  had  happened  during  the 
week  with  satisfaction,  now  that  it  was  past ;  she 
was  glad  not  only  that  she  had  paid  that  horrible  old 
man  his  money,  but  that  she  had  been  right,  and  not, 
as  she  had  sometimes  feared,  morbid  and  conceited 
about  wishing  him  to  be  paid.  She  felt  that  she  had 
behaved  in  a  sensible  and  business-like  manner ;  that 
Captain  Butler's  action  proved  this ;  •  and  that  all  the 
events  sustained  her  in  her  first  instinctive  impulse. 
At  this  safe  removal  in  time  and  space,  Mr.  Everton's 
proposal  did  not  seem  so  simply  horrible ;  it  began 
to  reveal  some  amusing  aspects;  she  broke  into 
a  little  murmur  of  laughter  when  she  thought  of 
certain  moments  of  perplexity  for  him. 

As  for  the  money,  it  was  a  little  matter :  it  was 
five  thousand  dollars  in  the  abstract,  but  in  reality 
it  was  only  six  dollars  a  week;  and  with  the  pro 
spect  of  literary  work  from  JVlr.  Evans,  and  perhaps 
other  editors,  she  could  easily  make  that  up:  she 
had  earned  ten  dollars  by  her  pen  already. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  353 

She  unfolded  the  paper  that  Mr.  Evans  had  given 
her,  and  the  crepitation  of  its  leaves  sent  a  light 
shiver  through  her.  What  would  the  Butlers  say 
when  she  sent  them  the  next  number  with  her 
reviews  marked  in  it  1  She  knew  from  her  own 
fine  reluctance  that  it  would  surprise  them  disagree 
ably  ;  and  she  fancied  Jessie  Butler  supporting,  and 
Mrs.  Butler  forgiving,  while  Marian  Ray  denounced 
her  new  attempt.  But,  she  reflected,  she  would 
often  have  to  disagree  with  Marian  Ray ;  and  what 
ever  people  said  of  the  society  gossip  in  the  Saturday 
Afternoon,  it  was  a  good  literary  paper ;  everybody 
acknowledged  that.  She  heard  herself  defending  it 
to  Marian,  and,  in  the  rapid  process  of  reverie,  it  Y 
had  come  to  her  saying  plainly  to  Marian  that  she 
saw  no  disgrace  in  writing  for  the  newspapers,  and 
that  the  only  disgrace  could  be  in  writing  dishonestly 
and  vulgarly  for  them.  She  had  said  she  had  Clara 
Kingsbury's  approval,  and  Marian  had  laughed  and 
answered,  "  Oh,  if  she  had  Clara  Kingsbury's  ap 
proval  ! "  and  had  retreated  again  to  Naples ;  for 
Helen  now  had  the  newspaper  quite  open,  ancT 
was  looking  for  the  book-reviews  occupying  the  place 
which  hers  would  have  the  next  Saturday.  They 
were  rather  appallingly  well  written ;  she  could  see 
that  they  were  indefinitely  better  done  than  hers ; 
she  wondered  if  they  were  Mr.  Evans's,  and  she  gave 
a  little  sigh  of  dismay  ;  while  her  eye  wandered  idly 
to  the  next  column,  where  a  name  arrested  it. 

The  name   was   Fenton's ;    and  the  paragraph  in 
which  it  occurred  seemed  to  become  alive  and  sentient 

z 


354  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

under  her  eyes.  It  was  a  despatch  from  Washington, 
rehearsing,  with  telegraphic  brevity,  the  facts  of 
the  wreck  of  the  Meteor,  as  furnished  to  the  State 
Department  by  the  Consul  at  Tahiti,  from  the  state 
ments  of  the  survivors. 

Five  days  after  the  disaster  the  French  ship 
Belle  Paysanne,  which  brought  them  to  that  port,  had 
fallen  in  with  an  open  boat  containing  Captain  Rollins 
and  a  number  of  the  Meteor's  crew  and  passengers, 
who  reported  that  Lieutenant  Fenton  and  three 
others  had  volunteered  to  remain  on  the  reef  where 
the  Meteor  struck  till  the  overladen  boat  could  find 
land  and  return  to  them.  The  Belle  Paysanne 
altered  her  course,  and  visited  the  scene  of  the 
catastrophe;  but  the  wreck  had  then  disappeared, 
and  there  were  no  traces  of  the  men  left  behind. 
A  week  later,  however,  the  ship  picked  up  another 
of  the  Meteor's  boats,  with  the  two  sailors  who  had 
remained  with  Lieutenant  Fenton.  From  the  narra 
tive  of  these  men  it  seemed  that  the  wreck  had 
broken  up  the  day  after  Captain  Rollins  abandoned 
her,  and  that  Lieutenant  Fenton,  who  had  lingered 
on  board  after  helping  to  launch  the  boat,  was 
caught  in  the  wreck  and  carried  down  with  her.  His 
companion,  a  passenger  named  Giffen,  was  rescued 
by  the  seamen ;  but  he  had  been  so  badly  bruised  by 
the  floating  timbers  that  he  died  the  following  day. 

They  confirmed  the  statements  of  Captain  Rollins 
and  all  the  other  survivors,  concerning  the  heroic 
behaviour  of  Lieutenant  Fenton,  who  had  chosen  to 
remain  on  the  rock  rather  than  imperil  the  lives 


A  WOMAN'S   REASON.  355 

of  the  passengers  in  Captain  Kollins's  boat,  and 
who  had  been  most  efficient  throughout  the  events 
that  followed  the  striking  of  the  ship.  The  boat 
in  which  the  men  were  found  was  in  a  ruinous 
condition,  and  was  set  adrift  after  their  rescue.  A 
large  sum  of  money,  belonging  to  Captain  Rollins, 
which  they  had  recovered  from  the  wreck  before 
it  broke  up,  was  restored  to  him. 


XVII. 

HELEN  did  not  come  down  to  her  breakfast,  and 
Cornelia  Root,  who  was  finishing  hers  about  the 
time  there  began  to  be  question  at  Miss  Hark- 
ness's  absence,  said  she  would  step  in  and  see  what 
the  matter  was  after  she  got  on  her  things.  She 
found  Helen  sitting  before  the  empty  grate ;  the  gas 
was  burning,  and  the  bed  untouched ;  and  a  thrill 
of  terror  went  through  her  lest  Helen  should  be 
sitting  there  dead.  When,  after  bidding  her  good- 
morning  in  vain,  she  ventured  to  touch  her  on  the 
shoulder,  Helen  looked  round,  with  a  stare  that,  for 
the  moment,  made  Cornelia  repent  being  so  bold. 
"  For  the  good  Lord's  sake  !"  cried  the  girl,  "  what  is 
it,  Miss  Harkness  1 " 

1 '  Oh,  nothing, "  said  Helen.  She  began  to  laugh,  and 
tried  to  hide  under  her  hands  the  newspaper  she  had  in 
her  lap,  and  then,  as  if  at  her  failure  in  this,  she  began 
to  weep  piteously.  "  Look  !"  she  exclaimed,  opening 
the  paper,  and  pointing  to  the  story  of  the  shipwreck, 
"  he  's  dead  !  And  those  men  killed  him.  Oh,  I  Ve 
thought  it  all  out !" 

Cornelia  took  the  paper,  and,  after  a  swift  glance 
at  the  paragraph,  put  it  aside  without  questioning 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  357 

her.  "I  guess  you  better  lie  down,  Miss  Hark- 
ness,  and  try  to  get  some  rest.  I  'm  going  to  have 
your  fire  made  up." 

She  got  her  to  bed,  and  then  she  conferred  with  the 
landlady  outside  the  door ;  she  ended  by  sacrificing  her 
own  preference  for  a  female  physician,  and  calling  in 
the  doctor  who,  Mrs.  Hewitt  recollected  hearing  Miss 
Harkness  once  say,  had  taken  care  of  her  father. 

She  sent  a  note  to  Miss  Kingsbury  telling  her 
that  she  was  afraid  Miss  Harkness  was  going  to 
be  sick,  and  asking  her  to  come  to  see  her;  but 
word  was  returned  that  Miss  Kingsbury  was  in  New 
York,  and  would  not  be  home  till  the  latter  part  of 
the  week.  It  was  then  too  late  to  move  the  sick 
girl  to  her  friend's  house. 

It  did  not  need  the  light  which  Miss  Kingsbury 
threw  on  her  relation  to  Lieutenant  Fenton  to  enable 
Helen's  fellow-boarders  to  understand  what  had 
happened.  Cornelia  Root  had  understood  it  at 
once,  with  austere  resolution  not  to  recognise  her 
own  privity  to  the  fact  even  to  herself ;  Mrs.  Evans 
had  divined  it,  and  talked  it  over  with  her  husband, 
who  halted  between  remorse  for  having  laughed  at 
Helen's  contributions  and  secret  question  whether  he 
would  not  be  justifiable  in  using  a  parallel  incident 
in  his  play  ;  Mrs.  Hewitt  guessed  it  out,  in  a  hungry 
inability  to  talk  it  over  with  anybody,  and  got  her 
first  real  comfort  out  of  the  expansive  desolation  in 
which  Miss  Kingsbury  confided  to  them  all  her 
grief  for  what  had  happened,  and  stated  the  facts  as 
fully  as  she  knew  them. 


358  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"Well,  it  didn't  stand  to  reason,"  said  Mrs. 
Hewitt,  "  that  she  would  care  so  much  for  a  brother, 
and  an  adopted  one,  at  that." 

"0  no  !"  cried  Clara.  "It  was  much  more  than 
that!" 

She  got  a  professional  nurse  to  relieve  the  devotion 
of  all  Helen's  volunteer  nurses ;  and  from  this  young 
woman  Mrs.  Hewitt  at  first  hoped  everything,  but 
only  to  be  the  more  keenly  disappointed ;  for,  so  far 
from  reporting  the  tenor  of  Helen's  delirium,  the 
nurse  wholly  refused  to  talk  of  her  patient.  She 
would  sit  at  Mrs.  Hewitt's  own  table,  and  blink  at 
Mrs.  Hewitt  through  her  glasses,  and  never  say  a 
word,  morning,  noon,  or  night,  until  Mrs.  Hewitt  did 
not  know  what  would  become  of  her.  Mrs.  Hewitt's 
disgust  with  the  nurse  authorised  the  first  full  laugh 
which  Evans  had  permitted  himself  since  Helen's 
sickness  began.  It  was  after  a  favourable  turn  had 
taken  place ;  nevertheless  Cornelia  Root  bent  upon 
him  a  look  of  keen  reproof. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Miss  Root !  "  he  protected,  "  I  'm 
not  going  to  stand  that.  I  've  just  succeeded,  after 
infinite  pains  and  argument,  in  convincing  Mrs. 
Evans  that  /  didn't  cause  Miss  Harkness's  fever  by 
laughing  at  her  literature  whilst  I  was  putting  it  into 
shape  that  night ;  and  I  still  believe  that  if  she  had 
died  my  wife  would  have  required  me  to  deliver 
myself  up  to  justice.  But  I  am  an  innocent  man, 
and  I  won't  have  you  going  round  and  looking  as 
though  this  never  would  have  happened  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  me." 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  359 

Cornelia  opened  her  mouth  to  deny  the  accusation, 
but  Evans  hastily  interposed.  "Do  you  mean  t© 
say  that  you  haven't  thought — that  you  haven't  felt — 
that  I  was  somehow  to  blame  for  the  whole  thing  1 " 
She  refused  to  answer,  with  a  dignity  that  did  not 
avail  her.  "Don't  fall  back  upon  the  fact  that  I 
lent  her  the  newspaper  !  I  didn't  invent  the  facts, 
at  any  rate;  but  I've  suffered  under  the  ban  of 
public  opinion  quite  as  if  I  had,  and  now  I  'm  going 
to  stop  it." 

"What  nonsense  !"  said  Cornelia.  "But  if  your 
conscience  pricks  you  for  anything,  I'm  not  going  to 
comfort  you." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  my  conscience  that  pricks  me  !  It 's 
your  conscience,  and  Mrs.  Evans's  conscience,  that 
have  goaded  me  to  desperation.  I  can  get  on  very 
well  with  my  own  conscience." 

As  soon  as  Helen  could  be  safely  taken  away, 
Clara  had  her  carried  to  her  house,  where  she  com 
pleted  her  convalescence  amidst  every  superfluity  of 
luxury.  For  many  weeks  she  remained  gathering 
strength,  and  listlessly  accepting  service  and  favour 
that  she  never  could  repay ;  but  at  last  the  day  came 
when  the  tide  of  life  rose  high  enough  in  her  veins 
to  beat  in  feeble  revolt. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "this  must  end  some 
time,  Clara.  I  'm  not  your  mother  or  sister.  You 
can't  keep  on  taking  care  of  me,  as  if  I  belonged  to 
you." 

"You  do  belong  to  me,  Helen  dear,"  cried  her 
friend,  with  a  rush  of  generous  tenderness.  "  Don't 


360  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

talk  of  anything  ending,   but  just  stay  on  and  on. 
Why  shouldn't  you  ?     What  would  you  do  f ' 

"Ah,  that 's  the  old  question  !" 

"  I  didn't  mean  that !  I  meant,  why  should  you 
try  to  do  anything  ?" 

"  I  suppose,  because  I  'm  not  a  lily  of  the  field,  for 
one  thing."  Clara  laughed  gratefully  for  the  gleam 
of  gaiety  from  Helen,  whose  sadness  had  been  heavy 
on  her  heart.  "  I  should  be  glad  enough  never  to 
do  anything,  or  even  be  anything  again.  You 
understand,  Clara,  what  I've  been  through]"  she 
asked. 

"  You  hinted  something  once,  and  I  could  guess 
the  rest." 

"  Then  we  won't  speak  of  it.  It 's  such  a  mercy 
we  needn't !  But  you  can  see  that  all  the  past  is 
swept  away  from  me.  There  's  nothing  left ;  I  have 
to  begin  everything  new,  with  new  ideas  and  new 
objects.  I  used  to  be  ambitious  about  helping  my 
self,  but  I  'm  not  now ;  even  my  pride  in  that  is 
broken."  The  tears  of  self-pity  started  to  her  eyes. 
"  Yes,  I  would  be  humbly  grateful  if  I  needn't  do 
anything.  But  I  must.  And  the  old  question  comes 
back  :  what  f 

"Oh,  Helen,"  said  her  friend  devoutly,  "if  you 
would  only  stay  and  be  a  companion  to  me— 
anything  !" 

Helen  smiled.  "  To  cheer  you  up — read  to  you— 
keep  you  interested — go  pleasure  journeys  with  you  1 
Yes,  I  should  be  a  gay  companion." 

"Well,  then,  my  housekeeper,  if  you  will  insist 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  361 

upon  usefulness — and  I  don't  blame  you  for  it ;  I 
should  myself.  Why  shouldn't  you  be  my  house 
keeper  1  I  have  heard  of  girls  trying  that ! " 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  learn  housekeeping  of  you, 
Clara.  You  know  I  don't  know  anything  about  it, 
and  that  you  know  everything.  I  used  to  pretend 
to  keep  house  for  papa ;  but  Margaret  really  did  it 
all.  I  must  be  fit  for  something ;  but  I  can't  tell 
what  it  is,  yet." 

"  I  can't  bear  to  hear  you  talk  so,  Helen.  Why 
don't  you  try  writing  again  1  I  'in  sure  Mr.  Evans 
would  be  glad  to  have  you." 

"  Don't !"  cried  Helen.  "  I  couldn't  think  of  any 
thing  I  tried  before — that."  She  touched  her 
calamity  with  the  word,  and  then  struggled  to  get 
away  from  it  with  a  curious  effort  of  her  broken 
spirit,  which  Clara  said  afterwards  made  her  think  of 
a  crippled  bird  trying  to  fly.  "  I  'm  a  fearful  problem, 
Clara.  But  don't  worry  over  me  any  longer,  now. 
There  must  be  some  very  simple  answer  to  me  if  we 
take  time  to  think  it  out ;  and  I  'm  afraid  I  'm  willing 
to  take  all  the  time  you  '11  let  me.  I  '11  accept  any 
sort  of  disguised  charity  at  present ;  and  if  you  want 
to  start  a  subscription  for  me,  Clara,  you  may.  Only, 
don't  let  me  know  about  it." 

A  thought  seemed  to  strike  Miss  Kingsbury, 
which  kept  her  silent  for  a  moment.  "  There  was  a 
Hungarian  lady  here  last  year,  who  had  a  plan  of 
gardening  for  girls — vegetable  and  flower  gardening. 
I  wonder  if  you  met  her." 

"  No,"  said  Helen. 


362  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  She  was  at  the  Kelloggs'.  She  was  Mrs.  Kellogg's 
religion  for  the  time  being."  Helen  did  not  catch 
hopefully  at  the  gospel  of  the  Magyar  prophetess, 
but  looked  with  a  rueful  surprise  at  her  friend,  who 
went  on  :  "  Then  there  has  been  a  good  deal  of  talk 
about  farming  for  women, — small  fruits,  and  poultry." 
She  threw  out  the  suggestion  diffidently,  but 
gathered  courage  when  once  it  was  projected  from 
her.  "  I  suppose  one  becomes  interested  in  it,  and 
gets  very  fond  of  the  poor  little  things." 

"  Which,  Clara — the  berries  or  the  chickens  1" 
asked  Helen,  with  a  lifeless  laugh.  "  I  should  want 
to  eat  the  berries ;  but  I  can't  imagine  eating  poultry 
of  one's  personal  acquaintance." 

"  Oh,  I  meant  having  an  affection  for  the  chickens  ; 
you  'd  have  to  let  other  people  eat  them."  She 
joined  in  Helen's  laugh  at  the  futility  of  her  sugges 
tions  ;  but  she  added  :  "  Well,  we  must  think  out  the 
answer  to  you.  There  '&  no  hurry." 

"  0  no." 

That  afternoon  Margaret  came  with  a  heart  full 
of  proud  contrition  to  blame  herself  for  having  been 
in  Ireland  for  the  past  three  months,  and  for  having 
just  learned  of  Helen's  sickness  and  whereabouts. 
She  wept  over  Helen's  sorrows,  and  over  her  wasted 
looks  and  hollow  eyes ;  and  the  girl  was  freer  to 
talk  with  her  of  what  had  happened  than  she  had 
yet  felt  with  any  one  else. 

She  told  her  about  the  shipwreck,  of  which 
Margaret  had  not  heard  before,  and  she  showed  her 
a  scrap  of  paper,  the  cover  of  an  official  despatch. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  363 

"  Here  are  his  last  words.  He  wrote  them  to  me 
while  he  was  standing  on  that  rock  in  the  middle  of 
the  sea,  and  they  came  from  Washington  after  I  was 
taken  sick." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Helen,  Miss  Helen,  how  did  you  ever 
live  to  tell  the  tale  1 " 

Helen  did  not  answer.  "  We  were  engaged,  and 
he  was  coming  home,"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  crazy 
satisfaction  in  the  poignancy  of  Margaret's  sym-\ 
pathy.  She  threw  the  burden  of  suffering  upon  her 
for  the  time,  and  talked  with  an  unsparing  hardness 
for  herself.  "  But  I  deserved  it — I  deserved  it  all." 
Her  thin  hands  trembled  in  her  lap,  and  her  head 
shook.  "Where  are  you  living  now,  Margaret1?" 
she  broke  off  abruptly. 

"  Why,  Miss  Helen,"  answered  Margaret,  with  a 
blush,  "  I  'm  living  in  the  Port,  in  a  house  of  my 
own." 

"  In  a  house  of  your  own  1 " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Helen."  Margaret  hesitated.  "You 
see,  there  was  an  old  fellow  on  the  ship  coming 
back,  that  had  been  out  to  Ireland  too,  and  he  kept 
talking  so  much  about  it  all  the  way,  and  never 
leaving  me  a  moment's  peace,  that  I  thought  maybe 
I  'd  better.  And  so,  I  did — three  weeks  ago." 

"Did  what?" 

"  Married  him,  Miss  Helen."  Margaret  seemed 
doubtful  of  the  effect  of  the  intelligence  upon  Helen ; 
she  hastened  to  add  in  excuse,  "  He  's  a  very  quiet 
body,  and  he  works  at  the  glass-works  in  East 
Cambridge.  We  have  a  nice  little  house,  and  I 


364  A  WOMAN'S  KEASON. 

should  be  much  pleased  to  have  you  come  out  some 
day  and  see  it,  Miss  Helen.  The  worst  of  it  is,  that 
there  isn't  enough  to  keep  a  person  busy,  and  I  'm 
thinking  that  maybe  I  '11  take  a  boarder.  There  's 
a  spare  room.  He  'd  like  to  see  you,  Miss  Helen. 
I  've  told  him  a  good  deal  about  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Margaret,  I  will  come  out  some  day. 
I  should  like  to  see  your  husband." 

"  Oh,  he  's  no  great  things.  But  he  's  a  very  quiet 
body." 

Helen  was  looking  at  the  bonnet  on  Margaret's 
head,  and  she  answered  rather  absently,  "  Yes." 
The  bonnet  was  a  combination  of  purple  fruits  and 
magenta  flowers,  caught  in  a  net  of  lace,  as  if  to 
protect  them  from  the  depredations  of  birds  and 
insects.  "  Where  did  you  get  your  bonnet, 
Margaret  1 " 

"  In  Hanover  Street,  Miss  Helen,"  said  Margaret. 
"  I  don't  think  it 's  very  good ;  do  you  1  I  paid 
enough  for  it ;  but  money  won't  buy  the  like  of  the 
bonnets  that  you  used  to  make  me,  Miss  Helen." 

"  You'd  better  let  me  see  what  I  can  do  with  this. 
The  shape  isn't  bad,"  said  Helen  critically. 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't,  Miss  Helen.  After  what  I've 
said  to  you  !  I  should  feel  as  if  I  'd  hinted." 

"  You  needn't  'be  under  a  compliment'  for  it, 
Margaret,"  said  Helen,  with  a  sudden  inspiration; 
"  You  may  pay  me  for  making  over  the  bonnet !" 

"Oh,  Miss  Helen!" 

"  Yes.  I  need  the  money.  I  must  work  for  my 
living  now." 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  365 

"  How  good  of  you  !"  said  Clara,  when  she  found 
Helen  with  the  bonnet  in  her  hands  the  next  day, 
and  learned  whose  it  was. 

"It 's  good  for  me,"  returned  Helen.  "Margaret 
pays  me  for  doing  it.  Perhaps  this  is  the  solution." 

Clara  permitted  herself  a  silence  in  which  her 
imagination  kindled  with  the  idea.  "  Helen,"  she 
cried,  "  it  is  splendid  !  Why  shouldn't  you  do  some 
thing  of  the  sort  1  There 's  nothing  disgraceful 
about  it,  and  with  your  taste,  your  genius,  you  could  v 
make  every  bonnet  a  work  of  art — as  they  do  those 
picture-dresses  in  London." 

They  talked  the  scheme  over,  and  as  soon  as 
Helen  was  strong  enough  to  attempt  it,  they  put  it 
in  practice.  Clara  wanted  her  to  set  up  a  shop  in 
her  drawing-room,  but  they  devolved  upon  some 
thing  more  modest  in  the  end,  and  Helen  took  Mrs. 
Hewitt's  parlour  floor.  Clara  advanced  the  capital ; 
a  tasteful  and  rfahtrthk  stock  of  frames  and  feathers 
and  ribbons  was  chosen,  and  Helen  embarked  in  the 
enterprise  under  the  favouring  smiles  of  a  world  at 
once  fashionable  and  sympathetic  and  high-minded. 
It  would  not  be  easy  to  say  just  how  the  scheme 
came  to  final  ruin.  But  when  once  a  lively  lady 
had  said  Miss  Harkness's  bonnets  had  so  much  touch, 
and  another  had  answered,  "  0  yes,  they  were  all 
touch,"  and  both  had  then  tittered  in  tacit  recogni 
tion  of  a  certain  amateurish  lack  in  them,  it  was 
well  on  the  way  to  failure.  By  the  time  that  a 
visiting  New  York  lady  had  said  Miss  Harkness 
seemed  to  be  quite  a  Boston  fashion,  and  had 


3G6  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

been  answered,  "  O  no  ;  a  Boston  passion,"  she  was 
no  longer  so.  Clara  Kingsbury  wore  her  Harkness 
bonnet  to  the  bitter  end  (as  some  one  phrased 
it),  but  she  was  notoriously  interested,  and  her 
heroic  devotion  counted  for  nothing.  All  Helen's 
gains  went  to  pay  the  assistant  whom  she  had  taken 
from  a  well-known  milliner's  shop,  with  a  just 
conviction  of  her  own  unfitness  for  practical  details  ; 
and  when  her  stock  was  exhausted,  and  the  ladies 
had  given  away  her  bonnets  to  their  second-girls, 
she  had  nothing  but  her  debt  to  Clara  for  her  pains. 
They  cried  over  the  failure  together  when  they  had 
to  face  it  at  last,  and  Clara  inveighed  against  the 
hollowness  and  ingratitude  of  the  world.  But  Helen 
took  the  blame  upon  herself.  "  It  was  arrogant  in 
me  to  suppose  that  I  could  succeed  in  any  business 
without  serving  an  apprenticeship  to  it — without 
beginning  at  the  bottom.  It  was  like  those  silly 
women  who  go  on  the  stage,  and  expect  to  begin  at 
the  very  top,  over  the  heads  of  people  who  have 
faithfully  worked  all  their  lives  learning  to  be  actors. 
It's  just!" 

"That  doesn't  make  it  any  the  easier  to  bear," 
Clara  repined. 

"  It  does  for  me,"  said  Helen.  "  If  the  things  that 
have  happened  to  me  were  not  just,  I  couldn't  endure 
them." 

Clara  took  her  in  her  arms,  vowing  that  she  was 
the  best  and  bravest  creature  in  the  world,  and  that 
she  had  never  done  anything  except  suffer  unmerited 
wrong.  She  would  not  hear  any  talk  of  the  money 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  367 

she  had  advanced ;  she  professed  that  if  their  under 
taking  had  succeeded,  she  had  always  intended  to 
take  her  share  of  the  profits,  and  that  she  was  more 
than  willing  to  take  her  share  of  the  loss.  How 
little  it  was,  compared  to  Helen's,  who  had  lost  time 
and  labour,  and  everything  but  courage  !  She  did 
not  understand  how  Helen  kept  up. 

"Because  I  must"  Helen  explained.  "You  can 
bear  things  that  you  must  bear.  I  suppose  that's 
what  makes  death  endurable  to  those  that  have  to 
live  on."  Clara  was  silent  in  awe  of  her  sad  wisdom, 
and  she  went  on  more  lightly  :  "  Besides,  this  hasn't 
been  altogether  a  loss  to  me,  this  experience.  I  've 
learnt  a  good  many  things.  I  've  really  learnt  how  to 
make  bonnets,  for  one  thing,  and  I  believe  I  can  be 
of  some  little  use  to  others  as  well  as  myself.  I  Ve 
got  a  new  idea,  and  I  'm  going  out  to  talk  with 
Margaret  about  it." 

"  With  Margaret  !  Oh,  Helen,  dear,  what  is  it  ? 
I  'm  afraid — 

"  That  it 's  something  foolish  ?  It  isn't.  It 's  only 
something  distasteful — something  very  humble.  It 's 
something  Miss  Root  suggested." 

Clara  was  only  partly  comforted.  "  Miss  Root  is 
terribly  severe.  She  doesn't  know  how  to  spare 
people's  sensibilities." 

"  She 's  had  to  do  with  people  who  have  no  business 
to  have  any  sensibilities — like  me.  I've  thought  it 
all  out,  Clara."  A  woman  instinctively  respects 
another  woman  who  says  this,  and  believes  her  • 
Clara  listened  attentively.  "  I  've  thought  it  all  out, 


368  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

and  I  see  that  I  haven't  talent  enough  to  be  first-rate 
in  anything.  I  couldn't  endure  to  be  a  second-rate 
artist  or  writer ;  but  I  don't  mind  being  a  second- 
rate  milliner ;  and  that 's  what  I  'in  going  to  be,  if  I 
can.  And  now  I  won't  tell  you  anything  more  about 
my  scheme  till  I  see  whether  it 's  practicable.  People 
will  laugh,  but  they  won't  sneer,  and  if  they  pity  me, 
I  shall  be  glad  and  grateful  for  their  pity." 

Clara  tried  to  get  from  her  some  details  of  her 
plan,  but  she  would  not  give  them ;  she  would  not 
leave  her  any  comfort  but  the  fact  that  she  could  not 
say  or  do  anything  to  prevent  her  trying  to  carry  out 
her  plan. 

She  went  out  to  Margaret's  in  the  horse-cars,  and 
walked  down  the  little  side  street  to  the  end  of  the 
row  of  French-roof  cottages,,  in  the  last  and  poorest 
of  which  Margaret  was  so  proud  of  living.  Helen's 
sickness  and  convalescence,  and  her  subsequent  ex 
periment  in  aesthetic  millinery,  had  carried  her  through 
the  summer  and  the  early  fall ;  the  young  elms  along 
the  side-walk  had  dropped  their  last  yellow  leaves, 
and  the  grass  in  the  narrow  door-yards  lay  limp  and 
flat  after  the  heavy  November  frosts;  around,  the 
open  lots  stretched  brown  and  bare,  swept  by  an  east 
wind  that  brought  the  salt  savour  of  the  bay  rank 
across  them.  A  few  slatternly  goats,  lank  and 
heavy-uddered,  wandered  over  the  dismal  expanse, 
as  if  to  crop  the  battered  tomato-cans  and  old  boots  in 
wrhich  it  abounded. 

Margaret's  house  had  never  had  more  than  one 
coat  of  pinkish-brown  paint,  and  it  looked  rather 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  369 

thinly  clad  for  the  season;  but  within,  a  pungent 
heat  from  the  furnace,  which  did  more  than  any  thing- 
else  to  make  Margaret  feel  that  she  was  an  American 
householder,  struck  into  the  parlour  where  she  re 
ceived  Helen.  It  was  curious  and  amusing  to  see 
how  little  Margaret  had  profited  by  her  life  in 
Beacon  Steps,  in  arranging  and  decorating  her  best 
room.  There  were  no  evidences  of  the  better  taste 
to  which  she  had  been  accustomed  half  her  days ;  she 
had  simply  tried  to  make  her  parlour  as  like  all  the 
other  parlours  in  that  row  as  she  could,  with  a  wood- 
coloured  ingrain  carpet,  tan  terry  furniture,  and  a 
marble-topped  centre -table ;  if  she  had  been  a  Pro 
testant,  she  would  have  had  a  large  gilt-edged  Bible 
on  this ;  as  it  was,  she  had  an  infant  Jesus  in  wax 
under  a  glass  bell. 

Helen  stopped  her  in  her  ceremonious  preparations 
for  making  company  of  her.  *'  Margaret,"  she  said 
abruptly,  "  I  want  to  come  and  live  with  you, — if  you 
think  you  can  trust  me  for  my  board  a  while." 

"  Indeed,  Miss  Helen,"  said  Margaret  with  a  splen 
dour  that  was  worth  more  than  money  to  her,  "I 
don't  know  what  you  mean,  exactly ;  but  if  you  do 
mean  to  come  and  live  with  me,  there  '11  be  no  talk 
of  board." 

"Well,  well,"  returned  Helen,  "we'll  talk  of  that 
later;  we're  both  pretty  headstrong."  Margaret 
deprecated  this,  as  far  as  Helen  was  concerned,  with 
a  flattered  simper.  "  But  now  I  '11  tell  you  what  I 
want  to  do.  You  know  I  Ve  been  trying  to  set  up 
for  a  fashionable  milliner  in  Boston." 

2  A 


370  A   WOMAN'S   REASON. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Helen,"  sighed  Margaret. 

"And  I  've  made  a  failure  of  it.  The  fashionable 
people  don't  want  my  bonnets." 

"They  're  a  set  of  hateful  things,  Miss  Helen,"  cried 
Margaret,  "  and  the  best  of  them  isn't  fit  to  scrub 
your  floors  for  you." 

Helen  laughed  at  the  unmeasured  zeal  of  Mar 
garet's  loyalty,  expressed  in  terms  so  little  fit  for  the 
polite  ears  of  those  they  devoted  to  condemnation. 
"  No,  no,  Margaret ;  they  were  quite  right,  and  I  was 
all  wrong.  I  didn't  know  how  to  make  bonnets 
when  I  began." 

"Miss  Helen,  if  there  's  been  one  person  spoke  to 
me  on  this  very  street  about  that  last  bonnet  you 
done  over  for  me,  there  's  been  a  hundred  !  Every 
body  says  it 's  the  becomingest  bonnet,  with  more 
real  Beacon  Street  style  to  it  than  any  they  ever  saw 
me  have  on  !  " 

"Well,  I  'm  very  glad,"  answered  Helen  patiently; 
"and  that  brings  me  to  what  I  wanted  to  say.  "  If  I 
didn't  know  how  to  make  bonnets  before  I  began,  I 
did  know  when  I  got  through — perhaps  by  spoiling 
so  many."  Margaret  sniffed  a  disdainful  denial  of 
the  premises,  and  remained  with  inflated  nostrils, 
while  Helen  went  on.  "  And  what  I  think  is  this  : 
that  if  I  could  come  out  here,  and  take  your  spare 
room,  you  might  tell  your  friends — those  poor  girls 
that  sometimes  waste  so  much  on  bonnets — that  I 
could  do  their  work  for  them  just  as  well,  and  a 
great  deal  cheaper — 

11 You  work  for  them  good-for-nothing  hussies,  Miss 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  371 

Helen  !  No,  indeed  !  It 's  bad  enough  having  you 
work  for  ladies — if  they  choose  to  call  themselves 
such  after  they  throw  your  bonnets  back  on  your 
hands — but  as  for  them  trollops  of  general  house 
work  and  second-girls,  let  them  fling  their  money 
away  ;  they  ;re  soon  enough  parted  from  it ;  but  you 
shan't  take  a  stitch  for  them." 

"Margaret,  Margaret!"  cried  Helen.  "I'm  not 
strong  enough  to  talk  to  you,  if  you  go  on  in  that 
silly  way.  I  haven't  a  cent  of  my  own  in  the  world, 
and  I  must  work,  or  I  must  beg.  The  question  is 
whether  you  will  let  me  have  your  spare  room  to 
live  and  work  in,  or  whether  you  will  turn  me  out 
of  doors." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Helen,  how  can  you  say  such  a  thing1?" 

"Well,  then,  don't  talk  sol" 

"You  can  have  the  whole  house,  and  all  that  we 
can  do  for  you,  and  you  shall  not  pay  a  penny 
for  it." 

Helen  rose.  "Very  well,  then,  I  shall  not  take  it. 
You  don't  want  me  to  have  the  room,  and  that 's  your 
way  of  putting  me  off.  I  understand  you,  Margaret. 
But  I  did  suppose  that  after  all  these  years  you  'd 
lived  with  us,  you  wouldn't  turn  me  into  the  streets." 

She  sank  weakly  into  her  chair  again,  and  Mar 
garet  called  to  all  the  saints  to  witness  if  she  did  not 
wish  to  do  in  every  particular  exactly  what  Helen 
desired. 

"  Well,  then,"  demanded  Helen  tragically,  "  will 
you  let  me  pay  you  five  dollars  a  week,  and  make  all 
your  bonnets  for  you  1 " 


372  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  Yes,  yes  !     Indeed  I  will,  Miss  Helen  !" 

"And  never  let  your  horrid,  wicked,  foolish  old 
pride  interfere  with  your  taking  the  money — if  I 
ever  get  it  to  pay  you  1 " 

Margaret  solemnly  promised,  and  Helen  said, 
"  Let  me  go  to  the  room  at  once,  then.  I  'm  so 
tired  !"  and  suffereohherself  to  be  helped  up-stairs  to 
the  little  chambei\which  Margaret  had  adorned  in 
the  worst  taste  of  Limekiln  Avenue,  with  chromos 
over  the  chimneypiece,  and  a  set  of  painted  furni 
ture,  grained  to  match  the  oak-paper  on  the  wall. 
It  was  like  the  inside  of  an  ugly  box ;  ^ut  Helen 
fell  upon  the  clean  bed,  and  slept  a  sleep  which 
carried  her  well  through  the  afternoon,  and  left  her 
refreshed  and  encouraged  to  begin  the  long  fight,  in 
which  she  forced  Margaret  from  one  stand  after  an 
other  higher  ^^tftrmjjQation  to  Jreat_Jier_as^  a  lady 
gue&t^  But  she  understood  Mafgaret  well  enough 
to  know  where  to  hold  her  hand,  and  when  Margaret 
sent  him  to  eat  his  supper  in  the  kitchen,  and  sat  stiffly 
down  in  fresh  linen  cuffs  and  collar  to  pour  the  tea 
for  her  in  the  dining-room,  and  would  not  touch 
anything  on*th.e  table  herself,  Helen  knew  better  than 
to  interfere.  — ^ 

When  work  began  to  come  to  her,  she  resolutely 
set  her  face  against  the  indignant  majesty  with  which 
Margaret  would  have  treated  the  poor  girls  her 
customers.  It  was  clearly  Margaret's  intention  to 
make  them  feel  that  it  was  an  honour  and  a  privilege 
to  have  their  bonnets  made  by  her  Miss  Helen ;  at 
first  she  remained  present  at  their  interviews,  brow 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  373 

beating  them  by  her  haughty  silence  into  acquiescence 
with  every  suggestion  of  Miss  Helen's,  and  reducing 
them  to  a  submission  so  abject  that  Helen  was  sure 
some  of  them  ordered  just  the  ribbons  and  flowers 
they  did  not  want,  and  others  bought  bonnets  when 
they  had  merely  come  to  talk  them  over.  Margaret 
followed  to  the  door  one  hapless  creature  who  had 
failed,  in  her  confusion,  to  give  any  order,  with  allu 
sions  to  people  who  wasted  other  people's  time  for 
nothing  so  cuttingly  sarcastic,  that  Helen  revolted, 
and  positively  forbade  her  to  interfere ;  after  that 
she  was  obliged  to  content  herself  with  a  haughty 
reception  and  dismissal  of  the  customers. 

Helen  did  her  best  to  serve  the  simple,  stupid 
things  cheaply  and  well.  She  knew  that  she  saved 
them  money,  and  she  made  their  mistaken  tastes  her 
own,  and  in  that  way  sometimes  corrected  them, 
without  their  knowing  it,  and  launched  them 
upon  the  world  a  little  less  formidable  in  shape 
and  crude  in  colour  than  they  had  intended.  But 
she  instinctively  studied  to  obey  one  of  the  first  laws 
of  business,  and  that  was  to  supply  an  existing 
demand  till  she  had  created  another.  She  did  not 
attempt  to  make  her  shop — for  finally  it  was  nothing 
more  nor  less — a  school  of  aesthetics,  as  she  had  in 
first  attempting  millinery ;  she  advised  and  suggested, 
but  she  decided  nothing.  She  put  both  her  pride  and 
her  preferences  into  the  pocket  where  she  bestowed 
her  customers'  money,  and  kept  only  a  conscience 
about  giving  them  the  material  worth  of  it.  They 
were  a  great  variety  of  poor  girls  and  women,  begin- 


374  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

ning  with  the  cooks  and  second-girls  of  Margaret's 
acquaintance,  whose  patronage  founded  Helen's  pro 
sperity,  and  rising  through  economical  mothers  of 
families  to  the  upper  ranks  of  seamstresses  and 
"  sales-ladies."  One  day  there  came  a  young  coloured 
girl,  when  luckily  Helen  was  alone ;  Margaret  would 
never  have  "demeaned"  herself  by  receiving  her,  but 
Helen  received  her,  and  in  due  time  sent  her  forth 
resplendent  in  a  white  hat  trimmed  in  orange  and 
purple. 

This  incident  of  her  new  career  seemed  to  give  it  an 
ultimate  stamp  of  authenticity,  and  it  afforded  her 
such  saddened  satisfaction  as  could  come  to  her 
.  through  a  sense  of  recognised  usefulness.  She  spoke 
of  it  to  Miss  Kingsbury  and  Cornelia  Root,  who 
equally  approved;  the  former  because  she  admired 
everything  Helen  did,  and  the  latter  because  she 
found  it,  as  Helen  herself  did,  a  final  testimony  to 
her  practicality. 

"It's  all  very  well  in  that  way,"  said  Mr.  Evans, 
whom  Cornelia  had  not  been  able  to  refrain  from 
triumphing  over  with  a  fact  that  refuted  all  his 
predictions  of  renewed  failure  for  Helen.  "  So  is. 
any  one  who  caters  to  a  depraved  popular  taste  of 
any  sort,  practical.  But  what  I  want  you  to  consider 
is  whether  there  is  not  something  immoral  in 
allowing  a  savage  preference  for  purple  and  orange 
to  indulge  itself.  If  I  read  my  Ruskin  aright,  I 
understand  that  there  is  some  sort  of  occult  con 
nection  between  a  feeling  for  colour  and  righteousness. 
Now  you  say  that  Miss  Harkness  allows  her  customers 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  375 

to  array  themselves  in  whatever  hue  of  the  rainbow 
they  like  best;  that  she  daily  and  hourly  violates 
her  own  sense  of  right  in  colour  for  the  sake  of 
money.  Don't  you  call  that  immoral  1 " 

11  What  do  you  have  anything  to  do  for  with  a 
paper  that  publishes  all  those  personals  and  society 
gossip  1 "  demanded  Cornelia  in  her  turn. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  a  poor,  weak,  erring  male  man  !  But 
I've  frequently  been  taught  that  when  Woman 
entered  the  arena  of  business,  it  would  be  in  some 
way  that  would  elevate  and  ennoble  affairs.  I 
shudder  to  think  what  will  become  of  us  when 
women  go  into  politics,  if  they  show  themselves  so 
ready  in  business  at  all  the  tricks  of  trade.  But 
I  Ve  noticed  that  when  Ladies — I  'm  not  speaking  of 
women  now — determine  to  be  practical,  they  let  no 
consideration  stand  in  their  way :  they  aim  to  suc 
ceed.  Look  at  the  unprincipled  way  they  conduct 
their  fairs  for  benevolent  objects !  What  prices  ! 
What  swindling  lotteries  of  all  sorts  !  No,  your 
Miss  Harkness  is  like  the  rest ;  and  it  appears  to  me 
that  at  the  present  moment  she  is  pandering  to  a 
very  depraved  taste  in  ribbonry,  and  I  see  nothing 
to  admire  in  the  mere  fact  that  she  is  making  a 
living  by  it.  Lots  of  people  make  a  living  by  selling 
crooked  whisky." 

Cornelia  Root  disdained  to  reply.  She  only  said  : 
"You  talked  very  differently  when  she  was  lyin' 
sick  here  in  the  house  ;  you  couldn't  pity  and  praise 
her  enough,  then." 

Evans  laughed  shamelessly.     "  Well,  I  was  afraid 


37 G  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

she  was  going  to  die,  and  we  always  try  to  make 
interest  with  the  other  world  by  being  kind  to 
people  about  to  go  into  it.  But  wTe  never  keep  it  up 
after  if  they  turn  back. " 

He  succeeded  no  better  than  he  meant  in  un 
settling  Cornelia  Root's  mind  in  regard  to  Helen. 
He  wished  his  wife,  who  usually  made  her  own 
bonnets,  to  go  out  to  the  Port  and  order  them  of 
Helen,  and  in  turn  suffered  much  the  same  sort  of 
reproach  which  he  was  fond  of  addressing  to  Cornelia. 
Mrs.  Evans  said  he  had  never  before  wished  her  to  get 
her  bonnets  in  Cambridgeport,  and  she  understood 
that  Miss  Harkness  had  quite  all  the  work  she  could 
do.  She  had  helped  to  take  care  of  Helen  during 
her  sickness,  and  had  been  devotedly  kind  to  her, 
like  every  one  else  in  the  house ;  but  a  woman  likes 
to  place  her  own  limits  to  her  benevolence,  especially 
towards  other  women ;  and  the  husband  will  commit 
an  error  who  attempts  to  extend  them.  She  asked 
him  why  he  did  not  wish  her  to  get  her  bonnets  of 
some  of  the  common  milliners  in  Hanover  Street, 
and  he  was  unable  to  say  why. 


XVIII. 

THE  world  of  fashion,  on  whose  bonnets  Helen  had 
experimented  in  learning  her  business,  accepted  the 
hearsay  of  her  success  in  a  humbler  way  with  self- 
satisfaction,  and  attributed  far  greater  things  to  her 
than  she  achieved.  It  understood  that  she  was 
making  money,  and  several  fictions  in  regard  to  the 
sums  she  had  amassed  had  a  ready  currency.  The 
world  intended  to  look  her  up,  when  it  had  time  ; 
it  was  neither  hard-hearted  nor  indifferent,  but  it 
was  preoccupied.  There  were  ladies  who  meant 
almost  every  day  to  drive  out  and  see  Helen ;  there 
were  others  who  refrained  because  they  fancied  she 
would  rather  not  have  them  come ;  but  all  were  un- 
feignedly  glad  that  the  poor  thing  had  found  some 
thing  at  last  that  she  could  do.  Her  experiment 
in  aesthetic  millinery  had  thrown  a  great  deal  of 
light  on  her  former  endeavours  ;  people  said^there 
was  hardly  anything  she  had  not  tried.  In  fine, 
they  practically  left  her  acquaintance  and  her  memory 
in  the  keeping  of  Clara  Kingsbury,  who  remained 
faithful  to  both,  and  perhaps  did  the  best  thing  for 
them  in  rather  hushing  them  up.  She  was  herself  a 
little  sensitive  about  Helen's  first  experiment,  and 


378  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

she  was  aware  that  many  people  held  her  indirectly 
responsible  for  the  enthusiasm  with  which  they  had 
encouraged  it.  She  always  answered  inquiries  about 
Helen  in  an  elusive  way ;  she  generalised  her,  and 
passed  her  over  as  quickly  as  possible,  so  that 
really  the  world  had  it  to  say  that,  so  far  from 
having  dropped  Helen,  she  had  dropped  herself. 
It  was  certainly  not  to  blame  for  having  heard 
nothing  of  her  failing  health,  which  began  to  break 
some  six  months  after  she'  had  established  herself  at 
Margaret's.  She  had  worked  very  hard,  for  she  had 
incurred  expenses  during  her  fever  at  Mrs.  Hewitt's, 
for  which  she  was  still  in  debt  to  Clara  Kingsbury, 
and  she  had  cherished  the  secret  determination 
to  reimburse  her  for  all  her  losses  through  her. 
She  had  not  earned  enough  to  do  this,  but  she  had 
worn  herself  thin  and  pale  by  the  time  the  advancing 
spring  made  it  a  year  since  she  had  heard  of  Eobert's 
death.  Her  friend  wished  her  to  give  up  and  go 
down  to  her  cottage  with  her ;  but  Helen  refused  to 
do  more  than  spare  herself  a  little,  and  she  was  still 
at  Margaret's  when  the  Butlers  and  Rays  arrived 
from  Europe. 

They  had  been  abroad  longer  than  they  had  in 
tended,  because  Captain  Butler  had  continued  in 
feeble  health ;  but  now  they  had  come  home  to  stay, 
as  Marian  wrote  from  London  before  they  sailed. 
They  were  all  going  to  be  in  Beverley  together  till 
Ray  could  decide  whether  to  buy  or  to  build  in 
Boston,  and  Marian  said  that  the  first  thing  must 
be  an  indefinite  visit  from  Helen.  There  was  a 


A  WOMAN'S   REASON.  379 

tone  of  peremptory  hospitality  in  her  letter,  which 
made  Helen,  in  spite  of  her  affection  for  them,  \ 
dread  the  return  of  her  old  friends.  She  was  much 
more  comfortable  with  Clara  Kingsbury,  who  had 
become  the  friend  of  her  adversity,  who  realised  it, 
and  took  it  seriously  ;  and  she  could  see  that  it  was 
still  a  freakish  piece  of  wilfulness  to  the  Butlers. 
Marian  somehow  treated  her  as  if  she  were  a  little 
girl,  and  rather  an  absurd  little  girl.  She  knew  that 
she  could  right  herself  against  Marian's  assumptions 
of  sincerity  and  wisdom,  but  she  shrank  weakly  from 
the  effort,  and  she  foresaw  that  she  should  not  have 
the  physical  strength  to  make  it. 

In  fact  she  yielded  at  once  when  Marian  drove  out 
to  Cambridgeport  and  took  possession  of  her.  She 
was  not  even  to  be  allowed  to  wait  till  they  were 
settled  at  Beverley,  but  was  to  go  down  with  them ; 
and  Marian  came  from  the  hotel  where  they  were 
stopping  for  the  day  to  fetch  her. 

Marian  had  always  been  large  and  blonde ;  she 
now  showed  a  tendency  to  stoutness ;  she  was  very 
English  in  dress,  and  she  had  the  effect  of  feeling  as 
if  she  looked  very  English.  Infax3t,^hje_Jiad  visited 
so  much  at  jrreat  English  houses^  that  she  was"~ex- 
periencing  the  difficulty,  which  sometimes  besets 
American  spjpurners  in  England,  of  distinguishing 
herself  from  the  aristocracy,  or  at  least  the  landed 
geritry.  ___  The  illusion  shortly  yields  to  American  air, 
Imt  it  is  very  perfect  while  it  lasts. 
JjMarian  had  a  nurse  for  her  little  boy,  and  she 
called  this  nurse  by  her  surname  simply;  she  was 


380  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

quite  English  in  her  intonation,  and  she  was  at  the 
same  time  perfectly  honesFand  unaffected  in  these 
novel  phases,  ajid  as  thoroughly  good  and  kind- 
hearted  as  ever.^But  her  handsome  bulk  and  her 
airs  of  a  large  strange  world  made  Helen  feel 
undersized  and  provincial ;  in  spite  of  all  she  could 
do,  and  in  spite  of  her  accurate  knowledge  of  just 
what  Marian  Ray  was  and  had  always  been,  her 
friend  made  her  feel  provincial.  She  had  been 
almost  two  years  out  of  society,  and  for  the  last 
six  months  her  relations  had  been  with  inferior 
people ;  she  asked  herself  if  she  might  not  really 
have  retrograded  in  mind  and  manners,  and  she 
gladly  escaped  from  Marian  to  the  others ;  to  the  ex 
uberant  welcome  of  the  younger  girls;  to  the  pitying 
tenderness  of  Mrs.  Butler ;  to  the  quiet  and  cordial 
simplicity  of  Ray, — his  quiet  seemed  to  have  been 
intensified  by  absence.  But  what  went  most  to  her 
heart  was  Captain  Butler's  tremulous  fondness,  and 
the  painful  sense  that  the  others  were  watching, 
whether  they  would  or  not,  for  the  effect  of  his 
broken  health  upon  her.  He  brightened  at  meeting 
Helen ;  they  said  afterwards  that  he  had  not  seemed 
for  a  long  time  so  much  like  himself  ;  and  they  left 
him  to  entertain  her  while  they  made  a  show  of 
busying  themselves  about  other  affairs.  It  was  pro 
bably  an  indulgence  they  had  agreed  to  grant  his 
impatience.  He  kept  her  little  worn  hands  in  his, 
and  looked  at  her  forefinger,  roughed  with  the  needle, 
and  deeply  tinted  with  the  stuffs  in  which  she  worked, 
and  it  seemed  to  be  this  sight  that  suggested  his  words: 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  381 

"  I  managed  very  badly  for  you,  my  dear !  If  it 
hadn't  been  for  my  hesitation  when  I  first  doubted 
that  rascal,  I  could  have  made  terms  for  you  with 
the  creditors.  I  don't  wonder  you  would  never  accept 
help  from  me  !  It 's  very  good  of  you  to  come  to  us 
now." 

"  Oh,  Captain  Butler,  you  break  my  heart !  Did 
you  think  that  was  the  reason  1  I  only  wished  to 
help  myself.  Indeed,  indeed,  that  was  all.  I 
wouldn't  have  accepted  any  provision  from  the 
creditors." 

"  You  need  never  have  known  it.  That  could 
have  been  arranged,"  said  Captain  Butler. 

"It's  been  a  mercy,  the  work — my  only  mercy  !" 
cried  the  girl.  "Oh,  Captain  Butler  !"  She  caught 
her  hands  away  and  hid  her  face  in  them,  and  let  the 
black  wave  of  her  sorrow  go  over  her  once  more. 
When  it  was  past,  she  lifted  her  dim  eyes  to  those  of 
the  old  man.  "  Did  you  read  about  it — all  about  if?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  and  many  a  night  I  Ve  lain  awake 
and  thought  about  it !" 

"Did you  ever  think  that  he  might  still  be  alive — 
that  perhaps  those  men  came  away  and  left  him,  and 
he  escaped  somehow  1  Don't  tell  me  that  you  did 
if  you  never  did  !" 

The  old  man  remained  silent. 

"  Then  they  must  have  killed  him — to  get  that 
money — 

"  No ;  probably  they  told  the  truth.  It  might 
very  well  have  happened  as  they  said,"  pleaded 
Captain  Butler. 


382  A  WOMAN'S   REAS01T. 

"Ah,  you  know  it  couldn't !" 

Again  his  hopeless  silence  assented,  and  Helen 
said,  with  a  long,  deep  sigh,  "That  is  all.  You 
know  how  I  must  have  felt.  There  is  no  use  talking 
of  it.  I  only  wanted  to  see  you  and  speak  of  it  just 
once,  because  I  knew  you  would  know.  Thank  you  ! " 
she  said,  with  a  wandering  pitifulness  that  forced  a 
groan  from  her  old  friend's  lips. 

"For  crushing  your  last  hope,  Helen  ?" 

"  Ah  !  it 's  better  not  to  have  false  hopes." 

She  stole  her  hands  back  into  his,  and  after  a  while 
she  began  to  tell  him  quietly  of  her  life,  and  what 
she  had  done  and  expected  to  do ;  and  he  gave  her 
the  comfort  of  his  fatherly  praise,  in  which  there  was 
no  surprise  or  foolish  admiration,  such  as  afflicted 
her  in  most  people's  knowledge  of  her  efforts. 

"I  don't  have  to  work  very  hard,"  she  explained, 
in  answer  to  a  question  of  his;  "not  harder  than  I 
wish;  and  I  have  got  to  working  at  last  as  otlrer 
people  do  who  earn  their  living,  without  thinking  at 
all  that  it 's  I  that  am  doing  it.  That 's  a  comfort, — 
a  great  comfort.  And  I  know  my  trade,  and  I'm 
sure  that  I  do  good  work.  Do  you  remember  when 
I  told  you  that  I  should  be  a  milliner  if  I  were  ever 
left  to  take  care  of  myself  1 " 

"I  remember,  Helen." 

They  Avere  both  silent ;  then  she  said,  with  a  light 
sigh,  "  I  'm  only  feeling  a  little  fagged  now." 

"  You  must  stay  with  us,  Helen,"  began  Captain 
Butler. 

"I   shall  be   glad    enough   to   stay  a  while,"  she 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  383 

answered  evasively,  and  in  her  own  mind  she  had 
already  fixed  the  term. 

It  was  inevitable,  perhaps,  that  she  should  extend 
the  term.  The  summer  was  a  vacant  time,  at  best, 
and  she  could  let  the  luxury  cf  Captain  Butler's 
house  flatter  her  feeble  health  into  strength  again 
without  such  a  bad  conscience  as  she  would  have  had 
if  she  felt  that  she  was  spoiling  her  future,  or  if  she 
had  got  back  her  strength  very  rapidly.  The  family 
did  not  see  many  people,  and  only  saw  them  in  a 
quiet  informal  way  in  which  Helen  could  share.  The 
world,  with  which  she  had  never  had  any  quarrel, 
took  her  back  kindly  enough ;  it  discreetly  suppressed 
its  curiosity ;  it  spoke  of  bonnets  and  ribbons  in  her 
presence  with  a  freedom  that  was  wiser  and  politer 
than  an  avoidance  of  such  topics  would  have  been ; 
it  sent  her  invitations  to  little  luncheons  and  low 
teas,  and  accepted  her  excuses  gracefully,  and  always 
renewed  the  invitations,  just  as  if  she  had  come. 

The  old  affection  enfolded  and  enfeebled  her.  It 
was  quite  as  bad  as  she  had  feared.  She  said  to  her 
self  sometimes  that  it  would  be  better  to  break  off  at 
once  and  go  back  to  Margaret's ;  but  she  did  not  do 
so.  The  thought  of  the  little  wooden  house  baking 
beside  the  dust  of  Limekiln  Avenue,  and  her  own 
low  chamber  gathering  heat  and  mosquitoes  from 
day  to  day  under  the  slope  of  the  slated  mansard, 
opposed  itself  to  the  actuality  of  the  Butler  cottage, 
with  its  wide  verandahs  that  looked  seaward  through 
cool  breaks  of  foliage  on  the  lawn  dropping  smoothly 
to  the  boulders  on  the  beach ;  with  its  orderly  succes- 


384  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

sion  of  delicate  meals ;  with  the  pretty  chintzed  and 
muslined  room  in  which  she  seemed  to  drowse  her 
life  away,  safe  from  the  harms  that  had  hunted  her 
so  long ;  and  she  felt  how  easy  it  would  be  to  accept 
indefinitely  the  fond  hospitality  that  claimed  her. 
She  said  that  she  must  not;  but  in  the  meantime 
she  did.  She  had  the  soft,  feline  preference  for 
sunny  exposures  and  snug  corners  which  is  to  blame 
for  so  much  frailty  of  purpose,  or  so  much  purpose 
less  frailty  in  women;  and  now  she  was  further 
weakened  by  ill-health.  She  stayed  on  and  on,  in 
spite  of  the  feeling  that  they  all  regarded  her  as  a 
poor,  broken  thing,  who  could  no  longer  be  the  ideal 
of  the  young  girls,  or  the  equal  friend  of  Marian. 

Mrs.  Ray  was  much  preoccupied  with  her  baby, 
with  the  house  that  Ray  had  decided  to  build,  with 
the  friends  abroad  from  whom  she  heard  and  to 
whom  she  wrote.  She  carried  with  her  an  impres 
sion  of  wealth,  an  odour  of  opulence,  which  accorded 
well  with  her  affluent  personality ;  she  accepted  her 
lot  of  rich  woman  with  a  robust  satisfaction  which 
would  have  been  vulgar  except  for  her  incorruptible 
good-heartedness.  She  never  talked  of  money,  but 
she  was  a  living  expression  of  large  expenditure ; 
and  in  discussing  the  plans  of  her  new  house  with 
Helen,  she  had  an  unconsciousness  of  cost,  as  related 
to  questions  of  convenience  or  beauty,  which  went 
further  to  plunge  Helen  into  hopeless  poverty  than 
any  boast  of  riches  could  have  done.  Her  manner 
was  none  the  less  effective  for  her  assumption  that 
Helen  was  equally  able  to  pay  for  such  a  house.  She 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  385 

was  not  planning  altogether  for  her  own  comfort  and 
splendour,  though  these  were  duly  provided  for  ;  but 
she  was  looking  after  the  wellbeing  of  everybody  in 
her  household,  and  she  was  as  willing  to  lavish  upon 
the  servants'  quarters  as  her  own. 

"I  think  it's  barbaric,"  she  said,  "to  make  those 
poor  creatures,  because  they  do  our  work,  pass  their 
days  in  holes  in  the  ground  and  coops  under  the  roof, 
and  I  'm  determined  that  they  shall  be  decently 
housed  with  me,  at  least.  I  'm  making  the  architect 
work  out  this  idea  —  it  was  something  I  talked  over 
—with"  —  she  added,  with  the  effect  of  feeling  it 
absurd  to  shrink  from  saying  it  —  "Lord  Rainford." 

They  both  continued  quietly  looking  at  the  plan, 
but  the  word  had  been  spoken,  and  they  no  longer 
talked  of  the  servants'  quarters  in  Marian's  house. 
Helen  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  with  her  listless  hands 
in  her  lap,  and  Marian  took  up  the  work  she  had 
laid  down  before  unfolding  the  plan. 

"When  did  you  see  him  lastl"  asked  Helen. 

"  Oh,  he  came  to  see  us  off  at  Liverpool,"  returned 
Marian. 

"Was  he—well  T 

"  Yes,  as  wTell  as  he  usually  is.  I  believe  he  's 
never  very  strong,  though  he  's  never  in  a  bad  way. 
He  's  much  better  than  he  used  to  be." 

Helen  was  silent.  Then  she  began,  as  if  in 
voluntarily  :  "  Marian  ;'  —  and  stopped. 


She  was  forced  to  go  on.     *  '  Did  you  know  — 

"  He  told  Ned.     Now,  Helen,"  she  added  quickly, 

2B 


386  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"I  promised  Ned  not  to  open  this  subject  with 
you  ! " 

"  You  haven't,"  returned  Helen  with  quiet  sadness, 
"/opened  it.  I  knew  that  we  should  have  to  speak 
of  it  some  time.  I  feel  that  I  was  not  to  blame,  and 
I  have  never  felt  sorry  for  anything  but  his — disap 
pointment." 

"  He  never  blamed  you.  He  understood  just  how 
it  happened,  and  how  he  had  mistaken  you.  He  is 
the  soul  of  delicate  appreciation." 

"Yes,  I  know  that." 

"  And  his  only  trouble  was,  that  he  should  have 
forced  you  to  say  that  you  were  engaged." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  I  don't  believe  that  any  of  us  grieved  more 
sincerely  for  you  than  he  did." 

"Oh," I  believe  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Marian,  breaking  her  needle  in  ex 
pression  of  her  resolution,  "I  won't  talk  with  you 
about  Lord  Rainford,  Helen ;  for  I  can  only  talk 
with  you  in  one  way  about  him,  and  I  promised  Ned 
not  to  do  that ! " 

"  What  way  1 "  asked  Helen. 

"  You  know  ! " 

"  Now,"  cried  Helen,  "  you  must  tell  me  all  about 
it !  If  I  didn't  believe  that  I  had  suffered  as  much  as 
he,  I  couldn't  forgive  myself.  How  did  he  find  out 
about — about — Eobert  ?  "  She  whispered  the  last 
word. 

"We  told  him!" 

"  And  he  was  sorry  for  me — he — 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  387 

"Yes." 

"  How  kind  he  is  !" 

"  Yes,  he  is  kind,"  said  Marian.  "  He  's  a  good  deal 
changed  since  he  was  here."  Helen  looked  the 
interest  which  she  did  not  otherwise  express,  and 
Marian  continued  :  "  He  's  giving  up  a  good  many  of 
his  wild  Utopian  ideas  about  democracy,  and  all  that 
kind  of  thing.  You  know,  at  one  time  —  before  he 
first  came  out  to  America  —  he  thought  of  dividing 
up  his  estates  amongst  the  labourers  on  them." 

"  What  a  strange  idea  !" 

"  Yes.  But  there  was  some  legal  obstacle  to  that 
—  I  don't  know  what  —  and  now  he  's  devoting  him 
self  to  making  his  people  comfortable  in  the  station 
where  he  finds  them.  He  conforms  a  great  deal  more 
than  he  used  to,  in  every  way|  _  I  think  his  acquaint 
ance  with  America  did  him  good  :  he^  saw  what  a 

ami    finality    renl1y_Wfire.       He 


must  have  seen  that  nobody  practically  believed  in 
them  ;  and  we  must  say  this  for  the  English,  that 
they  're  too  honest  to  get  any  pleasure  merely  from 
the  names  of  things.  He  must  have  found  that 
people  here  were  just  as  anxious  about  position  and 
occupation  as  they  are  in  England."  \ 

"  He  seemed  very  much  puzzled  by  it,"  said  Helen, 
"I  couldn't  understand  why." 

"Because  he  was  very  sincere  ;  the  English  are  all 
sincerer  than  we  are.  They  accept  rank  and  royalty, 
and  carry  it  out  in  good  faith  ;  and  we  accept  de. 
mocracy,  and  then  shirk  the  consequences.  That's 
what  Ned  says.  I  wonder  that  the  Englishmen  who 


388  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

have  been  here,  or  seen  us  running  after  titles 
abroad,  can  keep  from  laughing  in  our  faces  !  And  1 
dont  wonder  that  Lord  Rainford  was  cured  of  his 
fancies  in  America.  Why,  he  actually,  at  one  time, 
was  a  sort  of  republican  !" 

"A  very  curious  sort,"  said  Helen.  "He  said 
that  Americans  were  all  commoners." 

Marian  paused.  "Did  he  say  that  ]  Well,"  she 
added  with  heroic  resolution,  "  I  suppose  we  are." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Helen.  "Or  at  least  it 
wrasn't  delicate  of  him  to  say  so." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  meant  anything  by  it.  He 
gave  us  to  understand — or  Ray  at  least — that  he 
particularly  admired  you  for  your  courage  in  earning 
your  own  living,  and  being  no  more  ashamed  of  your 
work  than  if  you  were  noble." 

"Yes,"  said  Helen  thoughtfully,  "I  suppose  it 
might  be  natural  for  him,  if  he  had  those  notions,  to 
idealise  us  here,  just  as  it  would  be  for  one  of  us  to 
idealise  them  :  it  would  be  his  romance." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Marian,  with  eager  assent,  as  if 
this  mood  ought  to  be  encouraged  in  Helen,  "  that  is 
just  the  way." 

"And,  perhaps,"  Helen  went  on,  "it  would  have 
been  better  for  me  if  I  had  been  such  a  girl  as  he 
supposed — trying  to  help  myself  because  I  respected 
work,  and  all  that.  But  I  wasn't." 

"Of  course  not." 

"  I  was  merely  doing  it  because  I  couldn't  bear  to 
be  a  burden  to  any  one ;  and  I  've  never  had  any 
higher  motive.  " 


389 

"And  I'm  sure  it's  high  enough,"  said  Marian. 
"And  crazy  enough  to  suit  any  one,"  she  added. 
"  He  would  like  it  all  the  better  when  he  found  out 
what  it  really  was ;  especially  now  that  his  own  ideas 
have  changed  a  little." 

"  He  was  an  aristocrat  at  heart  all  the  time," 
returned  Helen.  "  If  I  had  been  born  to  work  for 
my  living,  like  the  poor  girls  whom  I  make  bonnets 
for—" 

"  It  would  have  been  another  thing,  quite.  We  're 
all  inconsistent.  I  don't  deny  it.  There  's  no  merit 
in  working  for  a  living,  whatever  disgrace  there  is 
in  not  doing  it.  You  don't  find  your  Bridgets  and 
Norahs,  or  your  Sadies  and  Mamies  so  very  superior 
to  human  weaknesses  that  you  wish  the  rest  of  us  to 
form  ourselves  on  the  pattern  of  working  girls." 

QP  no,"  said  Helen,  with  humorous  sadness. 
"They're  poor  silly  things,  most  of  them,  and  as 
full  of  prejudice  and  exclusiveness  as  any  one.  J^ye 
never  seen_  distinctions  in  society  so  awful  as  tlie 
distinction  between  ~sKo~p-girls_  and  parlour-girls. 
Their  differences  seenTBnctf"a  burlesque  6T'  ours"Tthat 
sometimes  I  can  hardly  help  laughing  at  the  whole 
thing.  I  supposed  once  that  all  work-people  were 
on  a  level ;  but  really  LJiad  no  idea  of  inequality 
till  I  came_down  to  thern^  I  daresay,"  she  adcled, 
"  Lord  Rainford's  experience  in  coming  down  to  us 
must  have  been  something  like  it.  But  it  didn't 
make  it  any  pleasanter  to  have  him  suggest  his  sur 
prise.  And  I  don't  know  that  I  need  feel  particularly 
flattered  at  his  singling  me  out  for  praise  because  I 


390  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

choose  to  help  myself  rather  than  be  wholly  depen 
dent—I  've  always  been  partly  so.  It  isn't  a  thing, 
as  you  say,  that  I  deserve  the  least  credit  for." 

"  I  never  said  that  about  you,"  protested  Marian, 
"  and  I  do  think  it 's  a  credit  to  you — or  would  be, 
if  there  were  any  necessity  for  it." 

"Any  necessity  for  it  T' 

"I  will  speak  now,"  cried  Marian,  " hospitable  or 
inhospitable ;  and  I  don't  see  how  it  has  anything  to 
do  with  it."  Helen  understood  perfectly  that  these 
enigmatical  sentences  were  the  report,  so  far  as  they 
went,  of  some  discussion  between  Marian  and  her 
husband,  and  that  she  was  now  about  to  break  some 
promise  she  had  made  him  out  of  half-conviction. 
"  Do  you  expect,  Helen  Harkness,  to  go  back  to  that 
horrid  shanty,  and  spend  the  rest  of  your  life  in 
making  servants'  bonnets  1 " 

"Yes — till  I  have  learnt  how  to  do  better  work." 

"Well,  then,  I  think  it 's  a  shame  !"  Helen  drew 
herself  up,  but  Marian  did  not  quail.  "  I  think  that 
you  might  have  had  some  little  consideration  for  us 
—for  all  your  friends,  if  you  had  none  for  yourself. 
Why  should  it  have  been  any  more  disgraceful  to 
accept  help  from  papa— from  your  father's  old  friend, 
who  felt  towards  you  just  as  he  does  towards  his 
own  children — than  to  take  up  such  work  as  that  1 
If  it  comes  to  that,  why  shouldn't  you  be  dependent 
upon  us,  as  well  as  dependent  on  them  ? " 

"I'm  not  dependent  on  them,"  said  Helen,  "and 
you  have  no  right  to  say  such  a  thing,  Marian." 
But  she  felt  herself  physically  unable  to  cope  with 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  391 

Marian's  misrepresentation,  or  the  no-reasons  with 
which  she  supported  it. 

"  I  say  it  for  your  good,  and  to  let  you  see  how  it 
appears  to  others.  It  will  kill  you  to  go  back  there. 
I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it." 

"  It  won't  kill  me,"  answered  Helen  sadly,  "  but  I 
shouldn't  be  frightened  by  that  if  it  were  true. 
Why  do  you  think  I  should  be  so  anxious  to  live  ? " 

"Helen!" 

"Yes, — seriously.  What  is  there  left  for  me  in 
this  world?" 

"  There  's  everything — if  you  would  see  it  so." 

"Everything?" 

"  Helen,"  said  Marian,  dropping  her  hands,  with 
the  sewing  in  them,  into  her  lap,  "  you  force  me  to 
break  one  of  the  most  solemn  promises  I  ever  made 
in  my  life.  But  I  don't  care ;  if  I  can  do  any  good 
by  it,  I  will  break  it.  And  I  want  you  to  understand 
that  I  speak  entirely  on  my  own  responsibility,  and 
quite  against  Ned's  advice  and  orders.  We  saw  a 
great  deal  of  Lord  Rainford  while  we  were  in 
England,  and  everything  we  saw  made  us  like  him 
more  and  more." 

Helen  feebly  put  herself  on  the  defensive,  but 
without  saying  anything,  and  Marian  continued — 

"  He 's  very  greatly  improved,  in  every  way.  He 's 
better,  and  he's  better-looking." 

"I  thought  him  improved  the  last  time  he  was 
here,"  said  Helen  impartially. 

"  He  's  the  kind  of  man  who  doesn't  show  to  advan' 
tage  out  of  his  own  surroundings,"  returned  Marian, 


392  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

pursuing  her  apparent  advantage.  "  We  visited  him 
at  one  of  his  places,  in  the  country  :  an  old  house  of 
the  fifteenth  century,  that  kings  and  queens  had 
slept  in,  and  that  had  been  in  his  family  almost  as 
long  as  it  had  been  built.  You  never  saw  such  a 
place,  Helen  !  There  wasn't  much  of  a  park,  but 
there  were  groups  and  avenues  of  beautiful  old  trees 
all  about,  and  lawns  so  fine  and  close,  that  it  seemed 
as  if  they  had  been  woven  and  laid  down  there  just 
for  our  visit;  ivy  all  over  the  front  of  the  house, 
and  such  gardens,  with  peaches  and  pears  and  roses 
trained  along  their  high  walls — just  like  Tennyson's 
poems  ;  and  an  exquisite  keeping  about  everything  that 
I  never  could  make  you  understand  unless  you  had 
been  there.  But  everything  was  so  fit  that  you  felt 
as  if  that  low  English  sky  was  part  of  the  place, 
and  the  arrangement  of  the  clouds  had  been  studied 
for  it.  There  wasn't  a  jar  or  a  hitch  in  anything, 
and  Lord  Rainf  ord  himself  came  in  in  such  a  way  that 
you  would  have  thought  he  was  as  much  a  guest  as 
ourselves." 

"Yes,"  assented  Helen;  "  I  suppose  they've  brought 
the  art  of  all  that  to  perfection." 

"  It  isn't  an  art  with  them  ;  it 's  nature — second 
nature.  This  was  only  one  of  his  places — the  smallest 
of  them, — but  there  wasn't  the  least  effect  of  owner 
ship  about  him ;  and  it  wasn't  from  him,  you  may  be 
sure,  that  we  found  out  the  good  he  was  doing !" 

"  No  ;  I  could  imagine  that.  He  must  find  a  great 
happiness  in  it.  I  'm  glad — 

"  Oh,  he  didn't  seem  very  happy.      Not  that  he 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  393 

made  any  parade  of  melancholy.  But  you  can  tell 
whether  such  a  man  is  happy  or  not,  without  his 
saying  so,  or  looking  so,  even." 

Helen  was  silent,  and  Marian  made  a  bold  push. 
"You  know  what  I  mean,  Helen,  perfectly  well. 
He  didn't  speak  to  me  about  it,  but  he  told  Ned 
everything,  and  Ned  told  me  \  and  I  don't  believe 
he  's  forgotten  you,  or  ever  will." 

"  He  had  better,  then,"  said  Helen,  with  a  momen 
tary  firmness.  "He  must." 

"  Didn't  you  tell  him  that  if  you  were  not  en 
gaged—" 

"  Oh,  did  he  say  that  ]  Then  don't  talk  to  me  of 
his  delicacy,  Marian  !  It  was  shameful  to  repeat  it." 

"  What  nonsense  !  Mightn't  he  say  it,  if  he  were 
asking  Ned  whether  he  thought  you  really  would 
have  cared  for  him  if  you  hadn't  been  1" 

"Did  he  ask  that?" 

"  I  don't  know.  But  if  he  had,  would  it  have 
been  anything  so  very  strange  1  Not  half  so  strange 
as  your  saying  it  if  you  didn't  mean  it.  Why  did 
you  say  it,  Helen  V1 

"  You  know  well  enough,  Marian.  Because  I  felt 
sorry  for  him;  because  I  had  to  say  something. 
Did  Ned — did  Mr.  Ray  encourage  him  to  think  that 
I  meant — 

"  Of  course  he  didn't.  He  never  ventured  a  word 
about  it.  He  seems  to  think,  like  all  the  rest  of  us, 
except  me,  that  you  're  a  very  peculiar  kind  of  porce 
lain,  with  none  of  the  flaws  of  common  clay,  and  I 
can't  persuade  him  you're  a  girl  like  other  girls. 


394  A   WOMAN'S   REASON. 

But  if  you  come  to  the  common  sense  of  the  matter, 
I  don't  see  why  Lord  Rainford  shouldn't  have  sup 
posed  you  meant  what  you  said,  and  that  when  it 
was  all  over — " 

"Marian!" 

" — Why  he  shouldn't  have  begun  to  have  some 
hopes  again.  I  'm  speaking  for  your  good,  Helen, 
and  I'm  going  to  speak  plainly.  I  don't  see  why 
you  shouldn't  marry  him  now  !  If  you  have  no  pity 
for  yourself,  if  you  prefer  to  go  on  with  the  wretched 
life  you  've  planned,  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't, 
have  a  little  compassion  for  him.  You're  spoiling 
his  life  as  well  as  your  own." 

Helen  had  to  struggle  from  under  the  crushing 
weight  of  this  charge  by  an  effort  that  resulted  in 
something  like  levity.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know  that  it's 
spoiling  his  life.  He  seemed  to  care  for  me  as  an 
element  of  social  and  political  reform,  and  wanted 
to  marry  me  because  I  illustrated  a  theory.  Per 
haps,  if  you  told  him  I  didn't  really  illustrate  it, 
he  would  be  quite  willing  to  accept  the  situa 
tion  ! " 

She  left  Marian  where  she  was  sitting,  and  the 
subject — for  that  day.  But  the  next  week  Eay  went 
off  to  town  by  a  train  earlier  than  usual  one  morn 
ing,  and  Marian  went  restlessly  about  the  house. 
The  moment  she  found  herself  alone  with  Helen,  she 
began  abruptly  :  "  Helen,  I  won't  have  you  thinking 
it 's  the  same  thing,  my  talking  to  you  the  other  day 
about  Lord  Rainford,  as  it  would  be  if  Robert 
Fen  ton  had  lived." 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  395 

"  No,"  said  Helen,  recognising  the  fact  that  it  had 
seemed  so  to  her. 

"  I  wish  to  talk  as  if  he  never  had  lived." 

"You  can't  do  that!" 

"  Yes,  I  can ;  for  now  it  is  the  same,  so  far  as  Lord 
Rainford  is  concerned.  If  you  said  anything  to  make 
him  believe  that  it  would  have  been  different  if  you 
had  not  been  engaged,  then  you  owe  him  another 
chance.  If  you  ever  did  or  said  anything  to  en 
courage  him — ' 

"  Encourage  him  !" 

"Without  knowing  it —  But  you  can't  deny  that 
he  might  have  thought  you  encouraged  him  deliber 
ately  that  first  day — 

"No,"  said  Helen,  with  a  guilty  sense  that  did  not 
suffer  her  to  protest  against  Marian's  cruelty  in  going 
back  to  that. 

"Then  I  say  you  must  listen  to  him.  Helen,  I'm 
speaking  entirely  for  your  good.  I  didn't  like  him 
at  first,  either ;  but  now  I  know  how  nice  he  really 
is.  I  do  want  you  to  reconsider !  You  would  be 
happy  with  him ;  he  would  make  any  woman  happy, 
and  he  would  be  simply  in  heaven  with  you.  And 
you  're  adapted  to  the  life  you  would  lead  in  England. 
You  could  be  fashionable  or  unfashionable,  just  as 
you  liked ;  and  if  you  wanted  to  be  useful,  to  do 
good,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  you  'd  have  every  chance 
in  the  world.  You'd  be  a  great  success,  Helen,  in 
every  way.  I  do  want  America  to  be  well  represented 
over  there  !  And  don't  you  see  what  a  great  thing 
his  offering  himself  to  you  is  1  It 's  almost  unprece- 


396  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

dented !  I  hardly  know  any  other  American  girl 
who  hasn't  been  married  for  her  money  in  Europe ; 
they're  always  married  for  their  money,  even  by 
cheap  little  continental  counts  and  barons ;  and  for 
an  English  lord  to  marry  a  poor  American  girl,  why, 
it's  like  an  American  man  marrying  a  woman  of 
rank,  and  that  never  was  heard  of !  I  want  you  to 
look  at  it  on  all  sides,  Helen ;  and  that 's  the  reason 
I  'm  almost  perjuring  myself  in  talking  to  you  of  it 
at  all.  I  did  promise  Ned  so  solemnly  ;  but  if  I  didn't 
speak  now,  I  shouldn't  have  another  chance  before — " 

She  suddenly  stopped  herself,  and  Helen,  who 
had  been  borne  down  by  her  tide  of  words,  lifted 
her  head  again  :  "  Before  what,  Marian  1 " 

"Before  he  comes!"  cried  Marian  hysterically. 
"  He  's  coming  here  to-day  !" 

Helen  rose.  "Then  I  must  go,"  she  said  quietly. 
"  It  would  be  indelicate,  it  would  be  indecent,  for 
me  to  be  here.  I  wonder,  Marian,  you  could  set 
such  a  trap  for  me." 

Marian  forgave  the  offensive  charge  to  Helen's 
excitement.  "  Trap,"  she  repeated.  "  Do  you  call  it 
a  trap,  when  I  might  have  let  him  come  without 
saying  a  word  to  you  1  I  wanted  to  do  it !  And  I 
should  have  had  a  perfectly  good  excuse  ;  for  we  didn't 
know  ourselves  that  he  was  coming,  till  this  morning. 
He  wrote  us  from  New  York,  and  he  started  for 
Boston  last  night.  I  didn't  even  know  he  was  in 
the  country — indeed  I  didn't ! "  she  added,  beginning 
to  quail,  woman  as  she  was,  under  the  awfulness  of 
the  reproach  in  Helen's  eyes.  "  We  couldn't  tell 


397 

him  not  to  come  !  How  could  we  tell  him  not  to 
come  ?  There  wasn't  even  time  ! " 

"Yes,"  said  Helen  brokenly,  "I  know.  I  don't 
blame  you.  But  you  see  that  I  can't  stay." 

"No,  I  don't,"  retorted  Marian,  "I  don't  see  any 
thing  of  the  kind." 

"  It  would  be  shameful — it  would  be  a  trap  for 
Aim." 

"He's  a  man,  and  he'll  never  dream  of  such  a 
thing;  he's  a  gentleman,  and  he  wont  think  so  !" 

"  But  /  shall,"  returned  Helen  definitively.  "  It 
will  look  as  if  I  had  been  waiting  for  him  here; 
as  if  I  wished  to  see  him.  It  leaves  me  no  freedom  ; 
it  binds  me  hand  and  foot.  If  he  spoke  to  me  again, 
what  could  I  say  ?  Don't  you  see,  Marian  1 " 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Marian.  But  she  denied  with 
her  lips  only. 

"  No  matter ;  it 's  quite  time  I  was  back  with 
Margaret.  I  will  get  ready,  and  go  up  to  Boston  at 
once. " 

"  Helen  !  And  when  he  's  crossed  the  ocean  to 
see  you  1 " 

"  If  he  's  done  that,  it  's  all  the  more  reason  why  I 
shouldn't  see  him.  He  had  no  right  to  come.  It 
was  very  presumptuous  ;  it  was  unfeeling." 

"  You  encouraged  him  to  believe  that  if  you  had 
not  been  engaged  to  Robert  Fenton  you  would  have 
accepted  him.  What  was  he  to  think  ?  Perhaps  he 
felt  that,  as  a  gentleman,  he  was  bound  to  come." 

Helen  panted  breathless.  "  I  must  go  away," 
was  all  she  could  say  at  last. 


398  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  Oh,  very  well  ! "  cried  Marian.  "  You  see  how 
awkward  you  make  it  for  us." 

J'  I  know.  I  'm  very  sorry.  But  I  can't  help  it. 
How  soon  do  you  expect  him  1 " 

"  Ned  went  up  to  Boston  to  meet  him.  I  don't 
know  which  train  they  11  be  down  on,"  returned 
Marian  coldly. 

"Then  there  isn't  a  moment  to  be  lost,"  said 
Helen,  hurrying  to  the  door.  "Will  you  let  Jerry 
take  me  to  the  station  1 "  she  asked  formally. 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  replied  Marian,  with  equal  state. 

A  few  minutes  later  Mrs.  Butler  came  to  Helen's 
room,  her  gentle  eyes  full  of  sympathetic  trouble. 
"  Marian  is  feeling  terribly.  Must  you  go,  dear  1" 

"  Why,  yes,  Mrs.  Butler.  Don't  you  see  that  I 
must]"  returned  Helen,  without  desisting  from  her 
packing,  while  Mrs.  Butler  sank  upon  a  chair  near 
the  trunk. 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  Marian  sees  it  too  ;  if  you  are  fully 
resolved  not  to — to  give  him  any  hope.  But  she 
thought — we  all  thought — that  perhaps — .  Helen, 
dear,  I  don't  wish  to  pry  into  your  affairs  \  I  have 
no  right — 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Butler!"  cried  Helen,  dropping  an 
armful  of  clothes  chaotically  into  her  trunk,  in  order 
that  she  might  give  the  tears,  with  which  she  was 
bedewing  them,  free  course  upon  Mrs.  Butler's  neck, 
"  you  have  all  the  right  in  the  world.  Say  anything 
you  please  to  me  ;  ask  anything !  How  should  I 
take  it  wrong  ? " 

."There's  nothing  I  wish  to  ask,  dear.     If  you're 


A  WOMAN'S    REASON.  399 

quite  firm — if  your  mind  is  entirely  made  up — there's 
nothing  to  say.  I  wouldn't  urge  you  to  anything. 
But  we  all  have  such  a  regard  for  him  that  if  you 
should — .  It  seemed  such  a  fortunate  way  out  of  all 
your  struggles  and  sorrows — 

"And  Robert1?  Do  you  ask  me  to  forget  him, 
Mrs.  Butler,  so  soon?" 

"  Oh,  no,  my  dear  !  I  should  be  the  last  to  do 
that !  But  wives  lose  their  husbands  and  husbands 
their  wives,  and  marry  again.  They  don't  forget 
their  dead ;  but  in  this  world  we  can't  live  for  the 
dead;  we  must  live  for  the  living.  Don't  look  at  it 
as  if  it  were  forgetting  him  or  betraying  him  in  any 
way.  As  long  as  you  live — you  must  understand 
that — he  can  be  nothing  to  you  !" 

"Oh,  I  do  understand  it,"  sobbed  the  girl.     "My 
heart  has  ached  it  all  out,  long  ago,  and  night  and  x 
day  I  know  it.     And  that 's  what  makes  me  wish  I 
were  dead  too." 

Mrs.  Butler  ignored  this  outburst.  "And  this 
young  man  is  so  good — and  he  is  so  true  to  you — 

"Oh,  is  that  the  reason  I  should  be  untrue  to 
myself  ?" 

"No,  dear,  it  isn't  any  question  of  that.  It's 
merely  a  question  of  examining  yourself  about  it,  of 
making  sure  of  your  own  mind  when  you  see  him 
again.  The  children  are  all  romantic  about  it  be-\ 
cause  it's  a  title,  and  they  like  to  think  of  a  splendid 
marriage  for  you ;  but  if  it  were  only  that,  I  should 
be  very  sorry.  I  've  seen  enough  of  splendid  mar 
riages,  and  I  know  what  risks  American  girls  take 


400  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

when  they  marry  out  of  their  own  country,  and  their 
own  kind  of  thinking  and  living.  But  this  isn't  the 
same  thing,  Helen — indeed  it  isn't.  He  likes  you 
because  you  're  American,  and  because  you  're  poor ; 
and  the  last  thing  he  thinks  of  is  his  title.  No,  dear. 
If  he  were  some  penniless  young  American,  he 
couldn't  be  any  better  or  simpler.  Mr.  Butler  and  I 
both  agreed  about  that." 

"Captain  Butler!"  cried  Helen,  with  the  tragedy 
of  Et  tu,  Brute,  in  her  tones,  and  the  effect  of  pre 
paring  to  fall  with  dignity. 

"Yes.  He  says  he  never  saw  any  young  man 
whom  he  liked  better.  They  formed  quite  a  friend 
ship.  He  was  very  sweet  and  filial  with  Mr.  Butler ; 
and  was  always  making  him  talk  about  you  !" 

A  throe  of  some  kind  passed  through  Helen,  and 
the  arm  round  Mrs.  Butler's  neck  tightened  convul 
sively. 

"  I  never  approved,"  continued  the  elder  lady,  "  of 
what  people  call  marrying  for  a  home ;  but  I  thought 
— we  all  thought — that  if,  when  you  saw  him  again, 
you  felt  a  little  differently  about  everything,  it  would 
be  such  an  easy  way  out  of  all  your  difficulties.  We 
approve — all  of  us — of  your  spirit.  Helen ;  we  quite 
understand  how  you  shouldn't  wish  to  be  dependent, 
and  we  admire  your  courage  and  self-respect,  and  all 
that ;  but  we  don't  like  to  see  you  working  so  hard — 
wearing  your  pretty  young  life  away,  wasting  your 
best  days  in  toil  and  sorrow." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Butler  !  the  sorrow  was  sent,  I  don't 
know  why ;  but  the  work  was  sent  to  save  me.  If 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  401 

it  were  not  for  that  I  should  have  gone  mad  long 
ago  !" 

"  But    couldn't    anything   else   save  you,  Helen  1 . 
That's  what  we  want  you  to  ask  yourself.      Can't 
you  let  the  sunlight  come  back  to  you — 

"No,  no  !"  cried  Helen,  with  hysterical  self-pity; 
"  I  must  dwell  in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death 
all  my  life.  There  is  no  escape  for  me.  I  'm  one 
of  those  poor  things  that  I  used  to  wonder  at — people 
always  in  black,  always  losing  friends,  always  carry 
ing  gloom  and  discouragement  to  every  one.  You 
must  let  me  go.  Let  me  go  back  to  my  work  and 
my  poverty.  I  will  never  leave  it  again.  Don't  ask 
me.  Indeed,  indeed,  it  can't  be ;  it  mustn't  be  !  For 
pity's  sake,  don't  speak  of  it  any  more  !" 

Mrs.  Butler  rose  and  pressed  the  girl  to  her  heart 
in  a  motherly  embrace.  "  I  won't,  dear,"  she  said, 
and  Avent  out  of  the  room. 

Helen  heard  her  encounter  some  one  who  had  just 
come  up  the  stairs,  at  the  head  of  which  a  briefly- 
murmured  colloquy  took  place,  and  she  heard  in 
Jessie  Butler's  penetrating  whisper:  "Will  she  stay1? 
Will  she  accept  him  ?  Is  she  going  to  be  Lady  Rain- 
ford  1  Oh,  I  hope—" 

"  Hush,  Jessie  !"  came  in  Mrs.  Butler's  whisper, 
and  then  there  was  a  scurry  of  feet  along  the  matting, 
and  a  confusion  of  suppressed  gaiety,  as  if  the  girls 
were  running  off  to  talk  it  over  among  themselves. 

Helen  would  not  make  allowance  for  the  innocent 
romance  it  was  to  them.  She  saw  it  only  as  a  family 
conspiracy  that  the  Butlers  ought  all  to  have  been 

2  c 


402  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

ashamed  of,  and  she  began  again  to  pack  her  trunk 
with  a  degree  of  hauteur  which,  perhaps,  never  before 
attended  such  a  task.  Her  head  was  in  a  whirl,  but 
she  worked  furiously  for  a  half-hour,  when  she  found 
herself  faint,  and  was  forced  to  lie  down.  She  would 
have  liked  to  ring  and  ask  for  a  biscuit  and  a  glass 
of  wine ;  but  she  would  not,  she  could  not  consent  to 
add  the  slightest  thing  to  that  burden  of  obligation 
towards  the  Butlers  which  she  now  found  so  odious, 
and  on  which  they  had  so  obviously  counted,  to 
control  her  action  and  force  her  will. 

She  lay  on  the  bed,  growing  more  and  more  bitter 
against  them,  and  quite  helpless  to  rise.  She  heard 
a  carriage  grate  up  to  the  door  on  the  gravel  outside, 
and  she  flung  a  shawl  over  her  head  to  shut  out  the 
voices  of  Kay  and  Lord  Rainford;  she  felt  that  if 
she  heard  them  she  must  shriek ;  and  she  cried  to 
herself  that  she  was  trapped,  trapped,  trapped  ! 

Some  one  knocked  lightly  at  her  door,  and  Marian 
entered  in  answer  to  a  reckless  invitation  from  the 
pillow.  It  seemed  an  intolerable  piece  of  effrontery, 
and  Helen  wondered  that  Marian  was  able  to  put  on 
that  air  of  cold  indifference  in  proposing  to  ask  her 
to  come  down  and  meet  Lord  Rainford  before  he 
had  been  in  the  house  ten  minutes. 

"  Helen,"  said  Marian,  in  a  stiff  tone  of  offence, 
"Mrs.  Wilson  is  here,  and  wants  you  to  come  over 
and  take  lunch  with  her.  I  couldn't  do  less  than 
promise  to  give  you  her  message.  Shall  I  say  that 
you  're  lying  down  with  a  headache  ? " 

"Oh,  not  at  all,  Marian,"  said  Helen;  "there's 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  403 

nothing  the  matter  with  me.  I'm  perfectly  well. 
Please  tell  Mrs.  Wilson  that  I  shall  be  very  glad  to 
come,  and  that  I  '11  be  down  directly." 

She  was  already  twisting  up  her  hair  before  the 
glass  with  a  vigour  of  which  she  could  not  have 
believed  herself  capable.  But  the  idea  of  flight,  of 
escape,  inspired  her ;  in  that  moment  she  could 
have  fought  her  way  through  overwhelming  odds 
of  Butlers ;  her  lax  nerves  were  turned  to  steel. 
"  Marian,"  she  said,  "  I  will  ask  Mrs.  Wilson  to  drive 
me  to  the  station  this  afternoon,  and  I'll  be  very 
glad  if  you  can  send  my  trunk  there." 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Marian. 

"I  know  I'm  making  it  horrid  for  you,"  added 
Helen,  beginning  to  relent  a  little,  now  that  she  felt 
herself  safe,  "  but  I  can't  help  it.  I  must  go,  and  I 
must  go  at  once.  But  Mrs.  Wilson  is  such  a  kind 
old  thing,  and  she 's  asked  me  so  often,  and  I  can 
easily  make  her  understand  that  I  must  come  now  or 
not  at  all,  and  if  she  knows  that  you  're  expecting 
other  people  your  letting  me  go  to  her  for  lunch  the 
last  day  won't  seem  strange." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,"  said  Marian,  with  a  slight  laugh, 
whose  hollowness  was  lost  upon  Helen. 

Mrs.  Butler  said  she  was  to  come  and  visit  them 
as  soon  as  they  got  back  to  town ;  she  kissed  her  as 
lovingly  as  ever,  and  the  Captain  was  affectionately 
acquiescent ;  but  the  young  girls  were  mystified,  and 
Marian  was  cold.  Helen  tried  to  make  it  up  to  her 
by  redoubled  warmth  in  parting ;  but  this  was  not 
to  be  done,  and  as  soon  as  she  was  out  of  the  house 


404  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

she  began  to  feel  how  ungracious  she  had  been  to 
Marian,  who  had  certainly  done  everything  she 
could,  and  had  behaved  very  honourably  and  can 
didly.  In  the  undercurrent  of  reverie  which  ran 
along  evenly  with  Mrs.  Wilson's  chat,  she  atoned  to 
Marian  with  fond  excuses  and  explanations,  and 
presently  she  found  herself  looking  at  the  affair 
from  the  Butlers'  point  of  view.  It  did  not  then 
appear  so  monstrous ;  she  relented  so  far  as  to 
imagine  herself,  for  their  sake  and  for  Lord  Eain- 
ford's,  consenting  to  what  seemed  so  right  and  fit 
to  them.  She  saw  herself,  in  pensively  luxurious 
fancy,  the  lady  of  all  that  splendid  circumstance 
at  which  Marian  had  hinted,  moving  vaguely  on 
through  years  of  gentle  beneficence  arid  usefulness, 
chivalrously  attended  in  her  inalienable  sadness  by 
her  husband's  patient  and  forbearing  devotion ; 
giving  him,  as  she  could  from  a  heart  never  his,  and 
now  broken,  respect  and  honour  that  might  warm 
before  her  early  death  to  something  like  tenderness. 
It  was  a  picture  that  had  often  been  painted  in 
romance,  and  it  satisfied  her  present  mood  as  well  as 
if  its  false  drawing  and  impossible  colour  were  true 
to  any  human  life  that  had  ever  been  or  could  be. 

By  the  time  she  reached  Mrs.  Wilson's  cottage 
Ray  drove  up  to  the  Butlers',  and  met  the  surmise 
of  his  wife  and  sisters-in-law  with  monosyllabic 
evasion  till  he  could  be  alone  with  Marian.  "  I 
didn't  bring  him,"  he  explained  then,  "  because  the 
more  I  thought  of  it  the  less  I  liked  our  seeming  to 
trap  Helen  into  meeting  him." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  "  said  Marian.  "  That  was  her  own 
word !  " 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  405 

"  Then  you  told  her  1  I  might  have  expected 
that.  Well,  it  was  quite  right.  What  did  she 
say?" 

"  Everything  unpleasant  that  she  very  well  could. 
You  would  have  thought  that  really  we  had  taken 
the  most  unfair  advantage  of  her,  and  had  placed 
her  where  she  couldn't  say  no,  if  she  wished." 

"  I  could  see  how  it  might  look  that  way  to  her," 
said  Ray,  "  and  that 's  what  I  was  afraid  of.  It  was 
extremely  awkward,  every  way.  We  couldn't  very 
well  tell  him  not  to  come,  and  we  couldn't  very  well 
tell  her  to  go ;  the  only  thing  I  was  clear  of  was 
that  we  must  tell  her  he  was  coming,  and  let  her 
decide  upon  her  own  course." 

"  That 's  what  I  did,  and  she  decided  very  quickly 
— she 's  gone." 

Ray  looked  worried.  "  It 's  tantamount  to  turn 
ing  her  out  of  doors,  I  suppose,  and  yet  I  don't 
know  what  else  we  could  have  done.  Well !  I 
might  as  well  have  brought  him  straight  here,  and 
saved  myself  all  the  diplomacy  of  getting  old  Wilson 
to  take  him  home  for  the  night." 

Marian  did  not  for  the  present  ask  what  was  the 
diplomacy  which  Ray  had  used.  "  Mr.  Wilson  !  " 
she  shrieked.  "  You  got  Mr.  Wilson  to  take  him 
home  for  the  night  1  " 

"  Yes,"  returned  her  husband  quietly.  "  What  is 
so  very  remarkable  about  my  getting  Wilson  to  do 
itl" 

She  did  not  answer,  but  burst  from  her  door 
with  a  cry  for  Mrs.  Butler  that  brought  all  her  sisters 
also.  "  Mother,  Lord  Rainford  has  gone  home  with 
Mr.  Wilson !  " 


406  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Mrs.  Butler  was  dumb  with  sensation  that  silenced 
all  her  daughters  but  Jessie.  This  young  lady,  not 
hitherto  noted  in  the  family  for  her  piety,  recog 
nised  a  divine  intention  in  the  accident :  "  /  call 
it  a  special  Providence ! "  she  exclaimed  ecstatic 
ally. 

"  What  is  it  all  about  1 "  inquired  Ray. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  replied  his  wife.  "  Nothing  at 
all !  Merely  that  Helen  was  in  such  haste  to  get 
away  that  she  accepted  an  invitation  to  lunch  with 
Mrs.  Wilson,  and  has  just  driven  over  there  with 
her.  I  suppose  she  '11  accuse  us  of  having  plotted 
with  the  Wilsons  to  '  trap '  her,  as  she  calls  it." 

"  Marian  ! "  said  Mrs.  Butler,  with  grave  reproach. 

"  I  don't  care,  mother ! "  retorted  Marian,  with 
tears  of  vexation  in  her  eyes.  "  Can't  you  see  that 
she  '11  accept  him  over  there,  and  that  I  shall  be 
cheated  out  of  having  brought  them  together,  when 
I  had  set  my  heart  on  it  so  much  1  I  didn't  sup 
pose  Helen  Harkness  could  be  such  a  goose,  after  all 
she  's  been  through  !  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  her  mother,  "  I  don't  wish  you  to 
speak  so  of  Helen  ;  and  as  for  her  accepting  him — 
Children,"  she  broke  off  to  the  younger  girls,  "  run 
away  ! "  and  they  obeyed  as  if  they  had  really  been 
children.  "  Edward,"  she  resumed,  "  how  in  the 
world  did  you  contrive  with  Lord  Rainford  ? " 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Butler,"  said  Ray,  "  with  men,  there 
was  only  one  way.  He  had  told  me  so  much,  you 
know,  that  I  could  take  certain  things  for  granted, 
and  I  made  a  clean  breast  of  it  at  last,  on  the  way 
home.  I  told  him  she  was  here,  and  that  I  thought 
it  wasn't  quite  fair  bringing  him  into  the  house 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  407 

without  giving  her  some  chance  to  protest — or 
escape." 

"  It  was  terrible,"  said  Mrs.  Butler,  "  but  I  see 
that  you  had  to  do  it.  Go  on." 

"  And  he  quite  agreed  with  me,  that  it  wouldn't 
be  fair  to  either  of  them.  I  don't  know  that  I 
should  have  spoken  if  I  had  not  seen  old  Wilson  in 
the  car.  I  asked  him  if  he  wouldn't  give  Rainford 
a  bed  for  the  night ;  and  he  was  only  too  glad. 
That 's  all.  I  told  him  he  could  walk  over  here 
this  evening,  and  meet  her  on  equal  terms." 

"  That  won't  be  necessary  now,"  said  Marian 
bitterly.  "  I  congratulate  you  on  the  success  of  your 
diplomacy,  Ned ! " 

"  Perhaps  it  is  providential,  as  Jessie  says,"  mur 
mured  Mrs.  Butler. 

"  Oh,  very  providential !  "  cried  Marian.  "  It 's 
as  if  it  had  all  been  arranged  by  the  providence  of 
the  theatre.  I  hate  it !  Instead  of  taking  place 
romantically  and  prettily,  among  her  old  friends, 
she 's  obliged  it  to  take  place  fancically,  by  a  vulgar 
accident,  where  there  can  be  nothing  pleasant  about 
it." 

"  Why,  Marian,"  said  her  mother.  "  Do  you 
think  she  will  accept  him  ? " 

"  Accept  him  1  Of  course  she  will !  She  is  dying 
to  do  it — I  could  see  that  all  the  time — and  I  could 
hardly  have  patience  with  her  for  not  seeing  it  her 
self.  She  's  old  enough." 

"  Well,  never  mind  about  that,"  said  Ray,  authori 
tatively.  "  We  have  done  what  we  all  saw  to  be 
right,  and  we  must  let  the  consequences  take  care  of 
themselves." 


408  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  Oh,  it 's  very  easy  to  say  that,"  cried  Marian. 
"  But,  for  my  part,  I  'm  sorry  I  did  right." 

"  Well,  your  doing  wrong  in  this  case  wouldn't 
have  helped.  My  doing  right  alone  was  enough  to 
put  everything  at  sixes  and  sevens." 


XIX. 

A  SERIES  of  trivial  chances  brought  Helen  and 
Lord  Rainford  together  alone,  before  she  could  get 
away  from  the  Wilsons'  after  lunch.  The  first 
train  for  town  did  not  start  till  three,  and  it  was 
impossible  that  she  should  shut  herself  up  in  her 
room  and  avoid  him  until  that  time.  In  fact  she 
found  that  there  was  nothing  in  his  mere  presence 
that  forced  her  to  any  such  defensive  measure,  while 
there  was  much  in  the  fatal  character  of  the  situa 
tion,  as  there  is  in  every  inevitable  contingency,  to 
calm  if  not  to  console  her ;  and  the  sense  of  security 
that  came  from  meeting  him  by  accident,  where  she 
was  perfectly  free  to  say  no,  and  could  not  seem  by 
the  remotest  possible  implication  to  have  invited  an 
advance  from  him,  disposed  her  in  his  favour.  They 
met  certainly  with  open  surprise,  but  their  surprise 
was  not  apparently  greater  than  that  of  the  Wilsons 
in  bringing  their  guests  together;  and  when  Mr. 
Wilson  explained  that  he  owed  the  pleasure  of 
Lord  Rainford 's  company  for  the  night  to  a  domestic 
exigency  at  the  Butlers',  Helen  divined  that  Ray's 
thoughtfulness  had  given  her  this  chance  of  escape, 
and  wondered  if  Lord  Rainford  was  privy  to  it. 
But  he  was  listening  with  his  head  down  to  Mrs. 


410  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Wilson's  explanation  of  the  chance  that  had  given 
them  the  pleasure  of  Miss  Harkness's  company ;  she 
wondered  if  he  were  wondering  whether  she  knew 
that  he  was  coming  and  had  fled  on  that  account ; 
but  it  was  impossible  to  guess  from  anything  he  said 
or  looked,  and  she  began  to  believe  that  .Ray  had 
not  told  him  she  was  with  them.  With  impartial 
curiosity  she  took  note  of  the  fact  that  his  full-grown 
beard  had  unquestionably  imgrovQd  his  chin ;  it 
appeared  almost  as  if  something.-  had  been  done  for 
his  shoulders ;  certainly  his  neck  was  not  so  long ;  or 
else  she  had  become  used  to  these  traits,  and  they 
did  not  affect  her  so  much  as  formerly.  More  than 
once  during  the  lunch  she  thought  him  handsome ; 
it  was  when  his  face  lighted  up  in  saying  something 
pleasant  about  seeing,  America  again.  He  pretended 
that  even  twenty-four  hours  of  American  air  had 
made  another  man  of  him.  Mr.  Wilson  said  that 
he  did  not  know  that  there  had  been  any  American 
air  for  a  week,  and  Lord  Rainford  said  that  he  did 
not  mind  the  heat ;  he  believed  he  rather  liked  it. 

"  But  you  certainly  haven't  got  it  to  complain  of 
here,"  he  added. 

"  Oh,  no,  it 's  always  cool  on  the  North  Shore," 
Mrs.  Wilson  explained.  "  Wtf  shall  not  let  you  go 
home  this  afternoon,  Miss  Harkness,"  she  turned  to 
say  to  Helen;  "you  would  certainly  perish  in 
Cambridge." 

"  Port,"  added  Helen,  with  inflexible  conscience  ; 
she  never  permitted  herself  or  any  one  else  the 
flattering  pretence  that  she  lived  in  Old  Cambridge. 
"  You  must,"  she  continued  quietly.  "  I  've  made 
all  my  preparations."  This  fact  was  final  with  a 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  411 

woman,  and  Mrs.  Wilson  could  only  make  a  murmur 
of  distress,  and  beg  her  at  least  to  go  by  a  later 
train,  but  Helen  was  firm  also  about  the  train ;  she 
said  her  trunk  would  be  at  the  station,  and  she 
must  go  then.  If  she  had  her  formless  intention 
that  this  should  be  discouraging  to  Lord  Rainford, 
she  could  see  no  such  effect  in  him  ;  he  remained 
unmoved,  and  she  began  to  question  whether  at 
sight  of  her  he  might  not  have  lost  whatever  illusion 
he  had  cherished  concerning  her.  She  said  to  her 
self  that  she  knew  she  had  changed,  that  she  had 
grown  older  and  thinner,  and  plainer  every  way. 
If  this  were  so,  it  was  best;  she  hoped — with  a 
pang — that  it  was  so.  She  ought  to  have  thought 
of  it  before ;  it  might  have  saved  her  from  giving 
Marian  pain.  Of  course  he  had  entirely  ceased  to 
care  for  her. 

After  lunch  Mr.  Wilson  betrayed  signs  of  heavi 
ness,  which  obliged  his  wife  to  the  confession  that 
nothing  could  keep  Mr.  Wilson  awake  after  lunch. 
She  sent  him  away  for  his  nap,  and  she  was  going 
to  lead  her  guests  down  over  the  lawn  for  a  look  at 
the  sea  from  the  rocks  by  the  shore,  when  a  servant 
came  with  some  inexorable  demand  upon  her. 

"  You  know  the  way,  Miss  Harkness,"  she  said. 
"Take  Lord  Rainford  down  there,  and  I  will  be 
with  you  in  a  moment." 

She  hurried  away  with  the  maid,  and  Helen 
descended  the  piazza  steps  and  sauntered  past  the 
beds  of  foliage-plants  across  the  grass  with  her  charge. 
He  did  not  leave  her  in  a  moment's  doubt  of  his 
mind  or  purpose  after  they  were  beyond  hearing. 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  have    come   back  1 "  he 


412  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

asked  abruptly,  and  striving  to  catch  the  eyes  she 
averted. 

"  How  should  I — "  she  began,  but  he  spared  her 
the  sin  of  even  an  insinuated  ignorance. 

"  I  came  back  for  you,"  he  said  with  a  straight 
forward  sincerity  that  shamed  her  out  of  all  evasion. 

"  Then  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  she  replied  frankly, 
"  for  you  had  better  have  forgotten  me." 

"  That  wasn't  possible.  I  couldn't  have  forgotten 
you  when  I  knew  you  were  not  free  ;  how  could  I 
forget  you  now  ?  For  the  last  year  my  life  has  been 
a  count  of  days,  hours,  minutes.  If  I  have  come 
too  soon,  tell  me,  and  I  will  go  away  till  you  let  me 
come  again.  I  can  wait !" 

He  spoke  with  the  strength  but  not  the  vehemence 
of  his  passion,  and  she  stayed  her  fluttered  nerves 
against  his  quiet.  If  it  were  to  be  reasonably  talked 
over,  and  dismissed  like  any  other  impossibility,  it 
would  be  very  simple;  she  liked  him  for  making 
it  so  easy ;  she  felt  humbly  grateful  to  him  ;  she 
imagined  that  she  could  reconcile  him  to  his  fate. 

O 

"  You  must  forgive  me,"  he  added,  "  if  what  I  say 
is  painful.  I  will  spend  my  life  in  atoning  for  it." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive  on  my  part.  If  you 
can  have  patience  with  me." 

"Patience?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  what  you  think !" 

"  I  hope  I  haven't  seemed  impatient.  I  couldn't 
excuse  myself  if  I  had.  No  one  could  have  re 
spected,  revered  your  bereavement  more  than  I ;  and 
if  I  thought  that  I  had  sinned  against  it  in  coming 
now — 

«  No— no— " 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  413 

"  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  a  kind  of  warrant 
-^-permission — in  something  you  said — something, 
nothing — that  took  away  all  hope  and  then  became 
my  hope — " 

"  Oh,"  she  trembled,  "what  did  I  say  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  he  said,  "  if  you  remember  nothing. 
I  abide  by  what  you  say  now." 

She  was  thrilled  with  an  aesthetic  delight  in  his 
forbearance,  and  with  a  generous  longing  to  recognise 
it.  "  I  know  what  you  mean,  and  I  blame  myself 
more  than  any  words  can  say  for  letting  you  sup 
pose —  It  was  my  culpable  weakness —  I  only 
meant  to  save  you — to  spare  you  all  I  could  ! "  A 
dismay  came  into  his  face  that  she  could  not  endure 
to  see.  "  Oh,  don't  look  so !  Did  you — did  you 
really  come  back  on  account  of  that]" 

"I  misunderstood  you — I  see.  Not  perhaps  at 
first ;  but  afterwards.  I  came  back  because  I  thought 
you  told  me  that  if  you  had  been  free  you  might 
have  answered  me  differently  then." 

"  Yes,  that 's  what  the  words  said  ;  but  not  what 
they  meant /"  She  silently  grieved  for  him,  walking 
a  little  apart,  and  not  daring  to  lift  her  eyes  to  his 
face.  He  would  not  speak,  and  she  had  perforce  to 
go  on.  "  Why  did  you  ever  care  for  me?"  she 
implored  at  last,  rushing  desperately  at  the  question, 
as  if  there  might  be  escape  on  that  side. 

"Why?"  he  echoed. 

"  Surely,  the  first  time  we  met — what  was  there 
to  make  you  even  endure  me  1" 

"  Endure  f  He  seemed  to  reflect.  "I  don't 
think  you  were  to  blame.  But  it  never  was  a  ques 
tion  of  that.  You — you  were  my  fancy.  I  can't 


414  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

tell  you  better  than  that.  And  you  have  always 
been  so.  It  isn't  for  what  you  did ;  it  isn't  for  what 
you  said." 

It  seemed  hopeless.  They  walked  on,  and  they 
only  ceased  from  walking  because  they  had  reached 
the  brink  of  the  rocks  beyond  which  lay  the  sea. 
She  stood  there  looking  on  its  glassy  levels,  which 
shivered  against  the  rocks  at  her  feet  in  impulses 
that  were  like  her  own  feeble  and  broken  purposes. 
In  a  certain  way  life  was  past  with  her ;  there  could 
be  no  more  of  what  had  been,  no  longer  the  romantic 
tenderness,  the  heroic  vision  of  love ;  but  there 
could  be  honour,  faith,  affection.  The  sense  of  this 
passed  vaguely  through  her  heart,  and  exhaled  at 
her  lips  in  a  long,  hopeless  sigh. 

At  the  light  sound  he  spoke  again.  "  But  I  didn't 
come  back  to  make  good  any  claim  upon  you.  I 
came  to  see  you  again  because  I  must,  and  because 
it  seemed  as  if  I  had  the  privilege  of  speaking  once 
more  to  you.  But  perhaps  I  haven't." 

"Oh,  certainly,  you  have  that!"  she  weakly 
assented. 

"  I  don't  urge  you  to  anything.  I  only  tell  you 
again  that  I  love  you,  and  that  I  believe  I  always 
shall.  But  I  don't  ask  your  answer  now  or  at  any 
given  time.  I  can  wait  your  will,  and  I  can  abide 
by  it  then,  whatever  your  answer  is." 

A  heavy  weight  was  on  her  tongue,  which  hin 
dered  her  from  making  her  answer  "  No."  A  ship 
lagging  by  in  the  offing  as  if  it  panted  with  full 
sails  for  every  breath  of  the  light  breeze,  the  whole 
spectacle  of  the  sea,  intimated  a  reproach,  poignant 
as  fleeting  and  intangible.  She  felt  herself  drifting 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  415 

beyond  her  own  control,  and  any  keeping  would  be 
better  than  none;  she  longed  for  rest,  for  shelter; 
she  no  longer  cared  for  escape.  There  was  no 
reason  why  she  should  refuse  the  love  offered  her. 
She  could  not  doubt  its  truth ;  its  constancy  even 
charmed  her  a  little;  she  was  a  little  in  love, — 
pensively,  reluctantly, — with  a  love  for  herself  so 
steadfast,  so  patient,  so  magnanimous.  The  sense 
of  her  own  insufficiency  to  herself,  the  conviction 
that  after  all,  and  at  the  very  most,  she  was  a  half 
success  only  even  in  the  sordid  and  humiliating 
endeavour  which  was  the  alternative,  unnerved 
her. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  say1?"  she  asked  herself;  and 
then  looked  up  in  terror  lest  she  had  uttered  the 
words.  But  she  had  not.  He  met  her  inquiring 
glance  only  with  a  look  of  sympathy,  in  which  per-  - 
haps  the  hope  suggested  by  her  hesitation  was  be 
ginning  to  dawn.  She  appealed  to  him  against 
himself. 

"  I  wish  you  had  not  come  back.  You  have 
made  a  great  mistake." 

His  countenance  fell  again. 

"A  mistake f 

"  Yes,  you  are  mistaken  in  me.  I  'm  not  at  all 
what  you  think  me.  If  I  were  that,  I  shouldn't 
be  here,  now,  begging  you  for  mercy.  If  I  were 
not  so  foolish,  so  fickle-minded,  that  no  words  can 
describe  me,  he  would  never  have  left  me  ;  he  would 
have  been  alive  and  with  me.  Oh  !"  she  cried,  "I 
can't  let  any  one  else  trust  me  or  believe  in  me  for 
an  instant.  It  isn't  as  if  I  were  bereft  in  any 
common  way ;  it 's  as  if  I  had  killed  him  !" 


416 

Lord  Kainford  remained  so  little  moved  by  this 
assumption  of  guilt  that  she  added,  "  Ah,  I  see  you 
won't  believe  me !" 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I  understood  something  of  that 
from  Ray ;  and  if  I  hoped  only  to  be  your  friend — 
if  I  knew  I  was  never  to  see  you  again — I  should 
still  say  that  you  were  wrong  in  blaming  yourself 
now ;  that  you  were  right  then  in  wishing  to  make 
sure  of  yourself  before  you  married  him.  It  would 
have  been  unjust  to  him  to  have  done  less." 

"Oh,  does  it  seem  so  to  you1?"  she  implored. 
"  That  was  the  way  it  seemed  to  me  then." 

"  And  it  ought  always  to  seem  so.  If  you  've 
made  it  my  privilege  to  speak  to  you  of  this  matter — 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes  !  " 

"  Then  I  say  that  I  think  what  you  did  in  that 
matter  ought  to  be  your  greatest  consolation  now. 
It  may  be  one  of  those  eccentricities  which  people 
have  found  in  my  way  of  thinking,  but  1  can't 
feel  less  reverently  towards  marriage  than  that." 

He  had  never  seemed  so  noble,  so  lovable  even, 
as  at  that  moment.  Her  heart  turned  toward  him 
in  a  fervent  acceptance  of  the  comfort,  the  support 
he  offered  her;  it  thanked  him  and  rejoiced  in 
him ;  but  it  was  heavy  again  with  its  former 
dismay  when  he  said,  "  I  don't  urge  you  to  any 
decision.  Remember  I  am  always  yours,  whether 
you  refuse  me  or  not." 

She  perceived  then  that  it  was  not  really  a  ques 
tion  of  her  and  Robert,  but  of  her  and  Lord  Rain- 
ford,  and  that  the  decision  to  which  he  did  not 
tirge  her  must  rest  finally  with  her.  If  she  could 
have  been  taken  from  herself  without  her  own 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  417 

consent,  passively,  negatively,  it  would  have  been 
another  affair. 

She  gathered  herself  together  as  best  she  could. 
"  I  am  acting  very  weakly,  very  wrongly.  I  've 
no  excuse  but  that  this  is  all  a  surprise  to  me.  I 
didn't  know  you  were  in  this  country.  I  didn't 
dream  of  ever  meeting  you  again  till  three  hours  x 
ago,  when  Mrs.  Ray  told  me  you  were  coming. 
Then  I  ran  away  from  her  to  avoid  meeting  you. 
Yes,  I  had  better  be  frank  !  It  seemed  horrible  to 
me  that  I  should  meet  you  in  her  house ;  you  could 
never  have  believed  that  I  hadn't  wished  to  meet  you." 

"  That 's  what  I  should  be  glad  to  believe,  if  I 
could.  But  I  saw — I  agreed  with  Ray — that  it 
might  not  be  leaving  you  quite  free  in  every  way ; 
and  so  I  was  glad  to  accept  his  suggestion  that  I 
should  come  here  first  till  something  could  be 
arranged — till  you  could  be  told." 

"  That  was  like  Mr.  Ray,"  interrupted  Helen. 
"  I  see  how  it  has  all  happened ;  and  oh,  I  'm  so 
sorry  it 's  happened  !  " 

The  young  man  turned  pale.  But  he  answered 
courageously,  "  I  'm  not.  I  had  to  know  whether 
there  was  any  hope  for  me  ;  I  had  to  know  it  from 
you." 

"  Yes,"  she  assented,  moved  by  his  courage. 

"  And  I  should  not  have  gone  away  without  at 
least  making  sure  that  there  is  none,  and  that  is  all 
I  ask  you  now." 

"  But  if  I  can  't  tell  you  ?  I  must  wait — I  must 
think.  You  must  give  me  time." 

"  Did  I  seem  to  be  impatient  1 ''  he  asked  with 
exquisite  deference  and  protest. 

2  D 


418  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"  No.  It  must  have  been  my  own  impatience — • 
I  don't  know  what — and  you  mustn't  try  to  see 
me  again — unless — "  A  deep  blush  dyed  her  face. 
She  had  put  some  paces  between  them,  with  a  sort 
of  nervous  dread  that  he  might  offer  his  hand  in 
parting.  She  now  said  abruptly,  "  Good-bye,"  and 
turned  and  ran  up  toward  the  house,  leaving  him  on 
the  rocks  by  the  sea. 

Mrs.  Wilson  met  her  half-way  across  the  lawn. 
"  I  was  coming  to  join  you,"  she  began. 

"Lord  Rainford  is  there,"  said  Helen.  "Mrs. 
Wilson,  I  find  that  I  must  see  Mrs  Ray  again 
before  I  go  to  town.  Could  you  let  them  drive 
me  across,  and  then  to  the  station  V 

"  Why,  certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson  in  the 
national  terms  of  acquiescence. 


XX. 

AT  first  Fenton's  arrival  on  the  island  had  seemed, 
like  the  breaking  of  the  steamer's  shaft,  the  storm, 
the  shipwreck,  the  escape  to  the  reef,  and  the  voyage 
in  the  open  boat,  one  step  in  a  series  in  which  there 
was  no  arrest,  and  in  which  there  was  at  least  the 
consolation  of  movement  from  point  to  point.  But 
this  consolation  ceased  with  his  last  glimpse  of  the 
sail,  in  which  all  hope  of  escape  fainted  and  died ; 
and  it  did  not  revisit  him  when  he  gathered  courage 
to  explore  the  fairy  solitude  of  the  atoll.  It  was 
so  small  as  to  have  been  abandoned  even  by 
the  savages  of  those  seas,  who  forsake  their  over 
peopled  islands,  and  wander  from  reef  to  reef 
in  search  of  other  homes,  and  it  would  never  be 
visited  from  the  world  to  which  he  had  belonged. 
The  whalers  that  sometimes  stop  for  water  at  the 
coral  islands  would  not  touch  at  this  little  point  of 
land,  lifted,  like  a  flower  among  its  thorns,  above 
those  perilous  rocks.  It  had  probably  never  been 
laid  down  on  any  chart;  in  a  century  which  had 
explored  every  part  of  the  globe,  it  must  be  a  spot 
unknown  to  civilised  men.  The  soil  showed  like 
snow  through  the  vegetation  that  thinly  covered 
it,  and  the  perpetual  green  on  white  repeated  itself 


420  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

in  the  trailing  vines  that  overran  the  coral  blocks, 
with  narrow  spaces  of  sea  between,  which  Fenton 
leaped,  in  his  round  of  the  island,  to  find  himseif 
again  and  again  on  the  white  soil  of  the  groves, 
through  which  the  palm  struck  its  roots,  and  anchored 
itself  fast  to  the  reef.  At  the  highest  point  the  land 
rose  fifteen  feet  above  the  sea ;  at  the  widest  place 
it  measured  a  hundred  yards ;  and  if  he  had  fetched 
a  compass  of  the  whole,  he  would  have  walked  less 
than  two  miles.  They  should  not  starve  ;  the  palms 
would  yield  them  abundant  fruit  through  the  un 
varying  year ;  the  sea,  he  knew,  was  full  of  fish.  As 
he  emerged  from  the  grove  at  the  point  at  which  he 
had  started,  Giffen  called  out  to  him,  "  What 's  that 
on  the  tree  right  by  your  shoulder  ?"  Fenton  looked 
round,  and  the  bright  blossom  near  him  turned  into 
a  bird.  He  put  out  his  hand ;  it  did  not  move ;  and 
when  he  lifted  it  from  its  perch,  it  rested  fearlessly 
on  his  palm.  He  flung  it  from  him  with  a  sickening 
sensation,  and  Giffen  came  running  towards  him. 

"  Hallo  !  what 's  the  matter  1"  demanded  Fenton. 

"  I  thought  mebbe  it  was  poison  ! " 

"  There 's  nothing  to  kill  us  here,"  Fenton  replied. 
"Come,  we  must  begin  to  live." 

The  sailors  had  left  behind  the  remnant  of  the 
bag  of  flour,  and  the  peas  and  beans.  Giflen  had 
carried  them  up  to  the  hut,  and  one  day  Fenton 
found  that  he  had  made  a  garden  and  planted  it  with 
them.  They  came  up  quickly,  and  then,  as  if  the  soil 
lacked  vitality,  they  withered  away,  all  but  a  vine 
sprung  from  a  seed  that  Giflen  found  among  the  peas. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  421 

He  tenderly  cherished  this  vine,  which  he  hoped 
would  prove  a  musk-melon,  or  at  least  a  cucumber ; 
in  due  time  it  turned  out  a  gourd.  "  My  luck,"  he 
said,  and  gathered  his  gourds,  for  drinking-cups. 

In  the  maze  which  had  deepened  upon  Fenton, 
the  whole  situation  had  an  unreality,  as  of  some 
thing  read  long  ago,  and  half- forgotten,  and  now 
slowly  recalled,  point  by  point ;  and  there  were 
moments  of  the  illusion  in  which  it  was  not  he  who 
was  imprisoned  there  on  that  unknown  island,  but 
the  hero  of  adventures  whom  he  had  envied  and 
admired  in  boyhood,  or  known  in  some  romance  of 
later  life.  The  gun  and  the  cartridges  which  they 
treasured  so  carefully  after  they  found  traces  of 
a  former  savage  habitation ;  the  tools  which  they 
had  brought  from  the  wreck,  and  which  they  used 
in  shaping  the  timbers  for  their  hut ;  the  palm- 
leaves  they  plucked  for  its  thatch  ;  the  nuts  they 
gathered  for  their  food  and  drink ;  the  fishing- 
lines  they  twisted  from  the  fibre  of  the  cocoa-bark ; 
the  hooks  they  carved  from  the  bones  of  the  birds 
they  ate,  and  the  traps  they  set  for  game  when  the 
wild  things  once  so  tame  began  to  grow  wary ;  their 
miserable  economies  of  clothing;  the  rude  arts  by 
which  they  fashioned  plates  from  shells,  and  cooking 
utensils  from  the  clay  they  found  in  sinking  their 
well ;  the  vats  they  made  to  evaporate  the  sea-water 
for  its  salt :  all  these  things  seemed  the  well-worn 
properties  and  stock  experiences  of  the  castaways  of 
fiction;  he  himself  the  figment  of  some  romancer's 
brain,  with  which  the  author  was  toying  for  the 


422  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

purposes  of  his  plot,  to  be  duly  rescued  and  restored 
to  the  world  when  it  should  serve  the  exigency  of 
the  tale.  Once  when  this  notion  was  whimsically 
repeating  itself  to  Fenton  in  the  silence  and  solitude, 
it  brought  a  smile  to  his  haggard  face,  and  when 
Giffen  asked  him  what  the  matter  was,  he  told  him. 
No,"  said  Giffen,  "it  ain't  much  like  us." 
hat  two  modern  men  should  be  lost  out  of  a 
world  so  knit  together  with  telegraphs  and  railroads 
and  steamships,  that  it  seemed  as  if  a  whisper  at  any 
point  must  be  audible  at  all  others,  was  too  grotesque 
a  fact,  too  improbable  for  acceptance.  It  was  not 
like  them,  and  it  was  not  like  any  one  he  could 
think  of,  and  when  he  tried  to  imagine  some  con 
temporary  and  acquaintance  in  his  case,  it  became 
even  more  impossible  than  when  he  supposed  it  of 
himself.  ,_J 

There  were  ironical  moods  in  which  he  amused 
himself  with  the  carefully  ascertained  science  of  the 
story-tellers  as  he  recalled  it,  and  in  which  he  had  a 
fantastic  interest  in  noting  how  near  and  yet  how  far 
from  the  truth  their  study  came.  But  there  were 
other  times  when  the  dreary  sense  of  the  hackneyed 
character  of  the  situation  overpowered  him,  and  he 
dropped  his  work  and  lay  with  his  face  in  the  sand, 
helpless  and  hopeless  for  hours,  sick  of  the  re 
petition  of  such  stale  inventions.  There  was  no 
greater  reality  in  it  all,  when  he  recalled  the  narra 
tives  of  men  actually  cast  away  on  desert  islands, 
though  there  were  moments  when  the  sum  of  what 
they  had  suffered  seemed  to  accumulate  itself  upon 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  423 

his  soul,  and  his  heart  and  hand  were  heavy  with 
their  sorrows. 

Yet  in  spite  of  all,  the  simple  and  wholesome  con 
ditions  of  his  life  were  restoring  him  to  physical 
health,  which  reacted  upon  his  mind  at  last ;  and  one 
morning  he  woke  with  a  formless,  joyful  expectation 
that  was  like  a  hope.  It  was  merely  the  habit  of 
hope,  reviving  from  a  worn-out  despair,  but  he  sprang 
to  his  feet  with  a  buoyancy  of  soul  that  he  had  not 
known  since  the  storm  first  began  to  close  round  the 
Meteor. 

Hitherto,  the  thought  of  Helen  had  been  fruitless 
torment,  which  he  banished  when  he  could,  but  now, 
all  at  once,  he  found  it  an  inspiration  and  an  incen 
tive  ;  he  thought  of  her  gladly ;  she  seemed  to  call 
him. 

He  left  Giffen  to  kindle  the  fire  for  their  breakfast, 
and  ran  down  to  the  lagoon  for  a  morning  bath. 
The  sun  shone  on  a  long  black  object  that  stretched 
across  the  main  channel  from  the  sea,  and  swimming 
out  to  it,  he  found  it  the  trunk  of  a  tree  which  had 
drifted  to  their  island.  With  Giffen's  help  he  got 
it  inside  of  the  reef,  and  floated  it  to  their  beach, 
and  he  could  aot  rest  till  they  had  dragged  it  up 
out  of  the  water.  It  was  a  message  from  the  world 
they  had  lost,  and  the  promise  of  rescue  and  return 
to  it.  At  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  knew  that  it 
might  have  drifted  a  thousand  miles  before  it  reached 
them,  but  it  was  as  easy  to  believe  that  it  came  from 
land  within  a  day's  sail ;  it  was  of  a  timber  unknown 
to  the  atolls ;  the  pebbles  that  it  held  in  the  net- 


424  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

work  of  its  roots  were  from  shores  where  there  were 
hills  and  rivers,  from  peopled  shores  that  they  might 
reach  if  they  had  any  craft  in  which  they  could 
venture  to  sea. 

Giffen  walked  up  and  down  beside  the  log,  and 
examined  it  critically,  stooping  aside,  and  glancing  at 
it  as  if  to  make  sure  of  its  soundness  in  every  part. 

"  Well  ?"  demanded  Fenton. 

"  Chop  it  along  the  top,  and  shape  it  up  at  the  ends, 
and  dig  it  out ;  and  maybe  we  can  fix  some  sort  of 
outrigger  to  it,  like  they  use  on  their  canoes  around 
here.  I've  seen  pictures  of 'em." 

He  made  the  suggestion  with  melancholy  diffidence  ; 
but  Fenton  caught  at  it  eagerly.  The  wood  was  very 
hard,  and  it  cost  them  weeks  of  labour,  with  the 
tools  they  had,  before  they  were  ready  to  launch  their 
canoe  upon  the  lagoon.  But  even  in  those  placid 
waters,  it  proved  hopelessly  unseaworthy.  Some 
fatal  defect  of  construction,  which  their  skill  could 
not  remedy,  disabled  it,  and  it  capsized  with  Giffen, 
Who  was  caught  in  the  outrigger,  and  with  difficulty 
saved  from  drowning  by  Fenton. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  said,  as  he  walked  dripping  to  their 
hut,  "  wS've  got  a  lot  of  good  firewoqd  in  that  thing. 
I  believe  if  you  hadn't  had  me  around,  you  could  have 
made  it  go." 

But  the  idea  of  escape  had  taken  full  possession  of 
Fenton's  mind,  and  the  failure  of  the  canoe  turned  it 
all  upon  another  scheme  which  had  begun  to  haunt 
it.  They  had  kept  a  fire  burning  night  and  day  ever 
since  they  had  landed  on  the  island,  to  attract  the 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  425 

notice  of  any  ship  that  came  in  sight;  but  now 
Fenton  determined  to  build  a  tower  on  the  highest 
point,  and  light  a  beacon  on  it,  so  that  no  lookout  on 
those  seas  could  fail  of  the  smoke  by  day  or  the 
flame  by  night. 

"All  right,"  assented  Giffen,  "it  will  kind  of 
occupy  our  minds  any  way." 

"  Don't  say  that ! "  cried  Fenton,  with  a  pang. 

"Well,  I  won't,"  returned  Giffen  penitently. 

The  tower  was  to  be  not  only  a  beacon  for  friendly 
sail,  but  a  refuge  from  wandering  savages  who 
caught  sight  of  it.  They  must  make  it  the  centre 
of  defences  to  which  they  could  resort  if  they  were 
attacked,  and  which  they  could  hold  against  any 
such  force  as  would  probably  land  on  their  atoll. 

Fenton  drew  a  plan,  and  by  nightfall  they  had  dug 
the  foundations  of  their  fortress.  They  burnt  some 
of  the  coral  blocks,  which  they  brought  from  the 
reef,  for  lime,  and  laid  their  walls  strongly  in 
mortar. 

The  days  passed,  and  as  they  toiled  together,  Fen 
ton  had  at  last  the  heart  to  talk  to  his  fellow-castaway 
of  the  world  to  which  they  were  preparing  to  return. 
He  found  that  to  speak  of  his  affairs  in  that  world  made 
it  not  only  credible  again,  but  brought  it  very  near. 
He  told  Giffen  that  he  was  going  to  be  married  as 
soon  as  he  got  back  to  Boston,  and  that  he  was  going 
to  leave  the  navy,  and  try  to  get  into  some  sort  of 
business  ashore.  He  described  Helen  to  his  comrade, 
and  what  she  wore  when  he  saw  her  last ;  and  then 
he  added,  that  she  must  be  in  black  now,  for  she 


426  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

had  lost  her  father,  who  died  very  suddenly  a  few 
days  after  he  sailed. 

"  I  behaved  badly,"  he  added,  with  the  feeling 
that  always  struggled  for  utterance  when  he  thought 
of  this,  and  which  it  was  a  relief  to  speak  out  now. 
"  We  had  a  misunderstanding,  and  I  came  off  with 
out  saying  good-bye  to  him." 

"That  was  pretty  rough,"  said  Giffen.  "But  you 
can  make  it  all  right  when  you  get  back." 

"Oh,  it's  all  right  now — with  her,"  rejoined  Fenton 
quickly. 

"And  with  him  too,  I  reckon,"  suggested  his 
comrade. 

"  Yes,  it  must  be,"  sighed  Fenton.  If  the  situation 
was  in  anywise  incomprehensible  to  Giffen,  he  did  not 
try  to  explore  it.  He  remained  deferentially  content 
with  what  Fenton  had  volunteered,  and  he  was 
sympathetically  patient  when  Fenton  tried  to  make 
him  understand  where  Mr.  Harkness's  house  was,  by 
a  plan  of  the  Common,  which  he  drew  on  a  smooth 
surface  of  the  plastered  wall,  with  Park  Street  running 
up  one  side,  and  Beacon  Street  along  the  other,  and 
Beacon  Steps  ascending  from  it  into  the  quiet  Place, 
where  the  house  stood.  He  made  a  plot  of  the  house, 
up-stairs  and  down,  with  the  different  rooms  marked 
off :  Helen's  room  at  the  front,  Mr.  Harkness's 
room ;  the  room  that  he  used  to  have  when  he 
came  home  from  school;  the  parlours,  and  the 
library.  He  lingered  fondly  on  the  details ;  and 
then  he  mapped  the  whole  town  for  Giffen,  ac 
curately  placing  the  principal  streets  and  squares  and 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  427 

public  buildings.  He  marked  the  lines  of  railroad 
running  out  of  the  city,  and  the  different  depots. 
"This,"  he  said,  placing  the  Albany  Station,  "is 
where  you  would  have  to  start  for  Kankakee.  It 's 
a  little  south  of  Chicago,  isn't  it  1 — on  one  of  the 
lines  from  Chicago  to  St.  Louis  1  There  's  a  Kanka 
kee  line,  isn't  there]"  He  laughed  for  joy  in  the 
assent  which  seemed  to  confirm  the  existence  of  the 
places ;  the  sound  of  the  names  alone  re-established 
them.  At  times  he  stealthily  glanced  from  this  work 
at  the  rim  of  the  sea,  where,  as  he  had  been  silently 
making-believe  while  he  talked,  there  must  be  a  sail. 
But  he  bore  the  inevitable  disappointment  patiently, 
and  returned  enthusiastically  to  his  map ;  he  pro 
jected  another  map  in  sections,  on  a  larger  scale, 
where  the  details  could  be  more  fully  given. 

Giffen  did  not  speak  much  of  his  own  life ;  it  was 
nothing  worth  speaking  of,  he  said ;  but  sometimes 
at  night  he  would  drop  a  hint  or  scrap  of  his  history 
from  which  Fenton  could  infer  what  remained  un 
spoken.  It  was  the  career  of  a  feeble  nature,  con- 
stantly  pushed  to  the  wall  in  the  struggle  of  a 
new  country.  All  his  life,  Giffen  had  failed;  he 
had  always  had  bad  crops,  bad  partners,  bad  luck, 
hard  times ;  if  he  went  away  from  home  to  better 
his  condition,  he  made  it  worse  ;  when  he  came 
back  he  found  that  he  would  have  done  better 
to  stay  away.  He  bought  on  a  rising  market,  and 
sold  with  the  first  fall  in  prices.  When  a  crash 
came,  it  found  him  extended;  the  return  of  prosperity 
overtook  him  without  money  or  credit.  He  had 


428  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

tried  all  sorts  of  things  with  equal  disaster :  he  had 
farmed,  he  had  kept  store,  he  had  run  a  sawmill, 
he  had  been  a  book-agent,  and  agent  for  many  patent 
rights.  In  any  other  country  he  would  have  remained 
quietly  in  some  condition  of  humble  dependence; 
but  the  unrest  of  the  new  world  had  infected  him ; 
he  had  spent  his  life  in  vain  experiments,  and  his 
last  venture  had  been  the  most  ruinous  of  all.  He 
had  sold  everything  to  get  the  means  of  going  to 
China,  and  when  the  common  calamity,  that  could 
scarcely  be  said  to  have  blasted  any  hopes  of  his, 
overtook  him,  he  was  coming  home  little  better  than 
a  beggar. 

Even  in  that  solitude  he  made  Fenton  his  ideal, 
with  the  necessity  that  is  in  such  natures  to  form 
themselves  upon  some  other,  and  appreciated  his 
confidence  and  friendship  as  gratefully  as  if  they 
had  been  offered  in  the  midst  of  men  where  he  must 
have  been  chosen  out  of  a  multitude  for  Teuton's 
kindness.  On  his  part,  Fenton  learned  to  admire 
the  fineness  of  spirit  which  survived  all  circumstance 
in  this  poor  fellow  ;  and  when  his  hopes  were  highest, 
he  formed  plans  of  doing  something  for  Giffen  in 
the  world. 

When  they  had  finished  their  tower,  and  removed 
into  it,  he  bade  him  make  one  more  errand  to  the 
hut  they  had  abandoned,  and  get  fire  to  light  the 
beacon. 

Giffen  refused.  "No,  sir ;  better  not  have  any  of 
my  luck  about  it." 

But  he  was  off,  early  in  the  day  that  followed,  to 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  429 

cut  wood  for  their  beacon ;  and  it  was  he  who  dis 
covered  that  they  could  make  the  densest  smoke  by 
day  in  drying  the  fuel  for  the  flame  by  night. 

"Don't  you  think  we  ought  to  do  something  with 
that  canoe  again  1'~  he  asked  one  day. 

"No,  not  yet,"  answered  Fenton.  "There'll 
be  time  enough  for  that  if  the  beacon  doesn't  suc 
ceed.  But  it  will  succeed."  He  formlessly  felt  the 
need  of  economising  all  tho  materials  of  hope  within 
him.  If  he  turned  so  soon  from  the  beacon  to  some 
other  device  for  escape,  he  knew  that  he  must  lose 
his  faith  in  it,  and  he  could  not  bear  the  thought  of 
this  loss.  He  was  passionately  devoting  himself  to 
the  belief  that  it  must  bring  a  ship  to  their  rescue. 
He  divided  the  day  and  night  into  regular  watches, 
and  whenever  he  came  to  relieve  Giffen,  he  questioned 
him  closely  as  to  every  appearance  of  the  sea ;  when 
he  lay  down  to  sleep  he  hastened  to  take  upon  him 
self  the  burden  of  disappointment  with  which  he 
must  wake,  by  saying  to  himself,  "  I  know  that  he 
will  not  see  anything."  He  contrived  to  postpone 
the  anguish  of  his  monotonous  failure  to  conjure 
any  sail  out  of  the  empty  air  by  saying,  as  each 
week  began,  that  now  they  must  not  expect  to  see 
anything  for  at  least  three  days,  or  five  days,  or 
ten  days  to  come.  He  invented  reasons  for  these  re 
peated  procrastinations,  but  he  was  angry  with  Giffen 
for  acquiescing  in  them ;  he  tried  to  drive  him  into 
some  question  of  them,  by  making  them  fantastic, 
and  he  was  childishly  happy  when  Giffen  disputed 
them.  Then  he  urged  other  and  better  reasons  :  if 


430  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

it  were  fine,  he  said  that  nothing  but  stress  of 
weather  would  bring  them  a  ship,  and  that  they 
could  only  hope  for  some  vessel  blown  out  of  her 
course,  like  the  Meteor ;  when  it  was  stormy,  he 
argued  that  any  vessel  sighting  their  beacon  would 
keep  away  from  it  till  the  storm  was  past,  but  would 
be  sure  to  come  back  then,  and  see  what  their  fire 
meant. 

"Yes,"  said  Giffen,  "but  if  we  are  going  to  keep 
that  fire  up  at  the  rate  we  have  for  the  last  three 
months,  we  must  begin  to  cut  our  cocoa  palms." 

"  It  isn't  three  months  ! "  cried  Fenton. 

Giffen  proved  the  fact  by  the  reckoning  he  had 
kept  on  a  block  of  coral  in  the  tower :  the  tale  of 
little  straight  marks,  one  for  each,  day,  was  irrefutable. 

"  Why  did  you  keep  that  count  ?"  cried  Fenton 
desperately.  "  Let  the  time  go,  I  say,  and  the 
quicker  it  goes,  and  the  sooner  we  are  both  dead,  the 
better  !  Put  out  the  fire  ;  it 's  no  use." 

He  left  Giffen  in  the  tower,  and  wandered  away, 
as  far  away  as  the  narrow  bounds  of  his  prison 
would  permit.  He  stopped  at  a  remote  point  of  the 
island,  which  he  had  not  visited  since  the  first  day 
when  he  had  hastened  to  explore  the  atoll.  The 
hoarse  roaring  of  the  surf,  that  beat  incessantly  upon 
the  reef,  filled  the  air ;  the  sea  was  purple  all  round 
the  horizon,  and  the  sky  blue  above  it ;  flights  of  tern 
and  petrel  wheeled  and  shrieked  overhead  :  the  sun 
shone,  tempered  by  the  delicate  gale,  and  all  things 
were  as  they  had  been  half  a  year  ago,  as  they  must 
be  half  a  year  hence,  and  for  ever.  In  a  freak  of  the 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  431 

idle  curiosity  that  sometimes  plays  on  the  surface  of 
our  deepest  and  blackest  moods,  he  descended  the 
low  plateau  to  look  at  a  smoother  and  darker  rock 
which  showed  itself  at  the  point  where  the  reef 
began  to  break  away  from  the  white  sand.  A  growth 
of  soft  sea-mosses  clothed  the  rock,  and  it  had  a 
fantastic  likeness  to  a  boat  in  shape.  The  mosses 
waved  back  and  forth  in  the  water ;  the  rock  itself 
appeared  to  move,  and  Fenton  fell  upon  it,  and 
clutched  it,  as  if  it  had  been  some  living  thing 
struggling  to  escape  him.  He  pulled  it  up  on  the 
sand,  and  then  he  sank  down  beside  it,  too  weak  to 
stir,  too  weak  to  cry  out ;  the  tears  ran  down  his 
face,  like  the  tears  of  a  sick  man's  feebleness. 

Giffen  found  him  beside  the  boat,  which  they 
righted  together  without  a  word. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  'm  glad  you  found 
her."  He  went  carefully  over  the  places  where  it 
had  been  patched,  with  a  solemn  and  critical 
scrutiny.  "  That 's  our  boat,"  he  added. 

"  Yes,  I  thought  so,"  assented  Fenton. 

"  And  those  fellows—" 

Neither  of  them  put  into  words  his  conjecture  as 
to  the  fate  of  the  men  who  had  abandoned  them : 
they  accepted  in  silent .  awe  the  chance  of  escape 
which  this  fate,  whatever  it  was,  had  given  them; 
but  late  that  night,  when>  they  lay  hopefully  sleepless 
in  their  tower,  Giffen  said,  "  I  don't  know  as  they 
meant  to  leave  us  for  good.  I  reckon,  if  they  'd  got 
through  all  right,  they'd  have  come  back  for  us." 

"  Yes,  we  must  believe  that,"  replied  Fenton. 


432  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

How  the  boat  had  reached  their  atoll,  and  when, 
remained  the  secret  of  the  power  that  had  given  it 
back  to  them.  It  was  enough  for  them  that  the  little 
craft  was  not  beyond  repair;  it  was  thoroughly  water 
logged,  and  it  must  be  some  time  before  they  could 
begin  work  upon  it ;  but  they  spent  this  time  in 
preparing  material,  and  gathering  provision  for  their 
voyage.  They  stocked  it  with  nuts,  and  dried  and 
salted  fish  sufficient  to  last  them  for  six  weeks ;  they 
filled  Giffen's  crop  of  gourds  with  water.  "More  of 
a  tank  than  cucumbers  or  musk-melons  would  have 
been,  after  all ;  and  better  than  cocoa-nuts,"  he 
quietly  remarked.  They  were  of  one  mind,  what 
ever  happened,  never  to  return  to  their  atoll ;  they 
had  no  other  definite  purpose ;  but  they  talked  now 
as  if  their  escape  were  certain. 

"  It  stands  to  reason,"  said  Giffen,  "that  it's  meant 
for  us  to  get  back,  or  else  this  boat  wouldn't  have 
been  sent  for  us;"  and  he  began  to  plan  a  life  as 
remote  from  the  sea  as  he  could  make  it.  "When 
I  put  my  foot  on  shore,  I  ain't  going  to  stop  walking 
till  I  get  where  salt  water  is  worth  six  dollars  a 
quart;  yes,  sir,  I'm  going  to  start  with  an  oar  on 
my  shoulder ;  and  when  some  fellow  asks  me  what 
that  thing  is,  I  'm  going  to  rest,  and  not  before  ! " 

They  built  a  fire  on  the  tower  that  would  last  all  day 
and  night,  and  then  they  set  sail  out  of  the  lagoon, 
and  through  the  breakers  beyond  the  reef.  The 
breeze  was  very  light,  but  the  sky  was  clear,  with 
the  promise  of  indefinite  good  weather ;  and  before 
nightfall  they  saw  the  plumes  of  their  palms  form 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  433 

themselves  into  the  tufts  into  which  they  had  grown 
from  the  points  they  had  first  discovered  on  the 
horizon ;  they  became  points  again,  and  the  night 
softly  blotted  them  from  the  verge  of  the  ocean. 

They  had  neither  compass  nor  sextant ;  under 
strange  stars  and  alien  constellations  they  were 
wandering  as  absolutely  at  the  will  of  the  winds  and 
waves  as  any  savages  of  those  seas.  For  a  while 
they  saw  the  light  of  their  beacon  duller  and  paler 
on  the  waters  where  their  island  had  been.  This, 
too,  died  away,  and  the  night  fell  round  them  on  the 
illimitable  sea. 

Fenton  stood  the  first  watch,  and  when  he  gave 
the  helm  to  Giffen,  he  simply  bade  him  keep  the. 
boat  before  the  wind.  In  the  morning,  when  he 
took  it,  he  asked  if  the  wind  had  shifted  or  freshened, 
and  still  kept  the  boat  before  it.  Toward  sunset  they 
sighted  a  series  of  points  on  the  horizon,  which, 
as  they  approached,  expanded  into  the  plumage  of 
palms ;  the  long  white  beach  of  an  atoll  grew  from 
the  water,  and  they  heard  faintly  the  thunder  of  the 
surf  along  the  reef.  It  looked  larger  than  their 
own  island,  and  they  scanned  it  anxiously  for  some 
sign  of  human  life.  But  there  were  no  huts  under 
the  palms,  and  no  smoke  rose  above  their  fronds. 

The  breeze  carried  their  boat  toward  the  shore, 
and  Fenton  decided  to  pass  the  night  on  the  atoll. 
If  it  were,  as  it  looked,  larger  than  the  atoll  they 
had  abandoned,  it  must  be  known  to  navigation,  and 
sooner  or  later  it  might  be  visited  by  ships  for  water; 
or  the  beche-de-mer,  which  abounds  in  the  larger 

2E 


434  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

reefs,  might  bring  American  traders  for  a  freight 
of  the  fish  for  China.  They  might  find  traces  of 
European  sojourn  on  the  island,  and  perhaps  some 
hint  by  which  they  could  profit  when  they  set  sail 
again. 

In  the  failing  light,  they  stove  their  boat  on  the 
reef,  but  the  breaker  that  drove  them  upon  it  carried 
them  beyond,  and  once  in  the  smooth  lagoon,  they 
managed  to  reach  the  shore  before  the  boat  filled. 
They  pulled  her  up  on  the  sand,  and  climbed  to  the 
top  of  the  low  plateau  on  which  the  palms  grew; 
but  it  was  now  so  dark  that  they  could  see  nothing, 
and  they  waited  for  the  morning  to  show  them  the 
familiar  paths  and  trees  of  their  own  atoll,  and  their 
tower  gleaming  white  through  the  foliage  in  the  dis 
tance.  They  walked  slowly  towards  it  in  silence, 
and  when  Giffen  reached  it,  he  busied  himself  in 
searching  the  ashes  of  the  beacon  for  some  spark  of 
fire.  He  soon  had  a  blaze ;  he  brought  water  from 
the  well,  and  boiled  the  eggs  of  the  sea-birds,  which 
he  gathered  from  their  nests  in  the  sedge.  He  broke 
some  young  cocoa-nuts,  and  poured  the  milk  into 
the  shells  they  had  made  for  drinking-cups,  and  then 
he  approached  Fenton,  where  he  sat  motionless  and 
vacant-eyed,  and  begged  him  to  eat,  humbly,  as  if  he 
expected  some  outbreak  from  him. 

"  No,"  said  Fenton  quite  gently.  "  But  you  eat. 
I'm  not  hungry." 

"  I  reckon,"  said  GifFen  piteously,  "  the  wind  must 
have  changed  in  the  night  without  my  knowing  it, 
and  brought  us  right  back." 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  435 

"  Very  likely,"  answered  Fenton.  "  But  it  makes 
no  difference.  It  was  to  be,  any  way." 

He  hardly  knew  how  the  days  began  to  pass 
again ;  he  no  longer  thought  of  escape ;  but  a 
longing  to  leave  some  record  of  himself  in  this 
prison,  since  he  was  doomed  never  to  quit  it,  grew 
up  in  his  heart,  and  he  wrote  on  the  walls  of  his  a 
tower  a  letter  to  Helen,  which  he  conjured  the 
reader,  at  whatever  time  he  came,  to  transcribe  and 
send  to  her.  He  narrated  the  facts  of  his  ship 
wreck,  and  the  barren  history  of  his  sojourn  on  the 
island,  his  attempt  to  escape,  and  his  return  to  it. 
He  tenderly  absolved  her  from  all  ties  and  promises, 
and  prayed  for  her  happiness  in  whatever  sort  she 
could  find  it.  In  this  surrender  he  felt  the  pang 
which  the  dead  may  be  supposed  to  know,  when  the 
soul  passes  into  the  exile  of  eternity,  and  sees  those 
it  leaves  behind  inevitably  committed  to  other  affec-  * 
tions  and  other  cares.  Sometimes  it  seemed  to  him 
as  if  he  might  really  be  dead,  and  all  his  experience 
of  the  past  year  a  nightmare  of  the  everlasting 
sleep. 

The  tern  that  were  nesting  on  the  atoll  when  he 
first  landed,  and  that  visited  it  every  six  months  to 
rear  their  young,  were  now  a  third  time  laying  their 
eggs  in  the  tufts  of  coarse  thin  grass.  He  thought 
these  visits  of  the  birds  were  annual,  and  there  was 
nothing  in  the  climate  to  correct  his  error,  or  group 
in  fixed  periods  the  lapse  of  his  monotonous  days. 
There  was  at  times  more  rain,  and  again  less  rain ;  but 
the  change  scarcely  divided  the  year  into  seasons  • 


436  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

flower  and  fruit  were  there  at  all  times,  and  spring, 
summer,  autumn,  and  winter,  with  their  distinct 
variety,  were  ideas  as  alien  as  hills,  and  valleys,  and 
streams,  in  this  little  land,  raised  for  the  most  part 
scarcely  a  man's  height  above  the  sea.  where  there  could 
never  even  be  the  names  of  these  things  in  any  native 
tongue.  Once  or  twice  the  atoll  felt  the  tremor  of 
an  earthquake,  that  perhaps  shook  continental  shores, 
or  perhaps  only  sent  its  vibrations  along  the  ocean 
floor,  and  lifted,  or  let  fall  beneath  the  waves,  some 
tiny  point  of  land  like  their  own  ;  and  once  there  had 
fallen  a  shower  of  ashes  from  the  clear  sky,  which 
must  have  been  carried  by  a  wind-current  from  some 
far-off  volcano.  This,  with  the  log  that  had  drifted 
to  their  reef,  was  their  sole  message  from  beyond  the 
wilderness  that  weltered  around  them  from  horizon 
to  horizon,  and  knew  no  change  but  from  cairn  to 
storm,  and  then  to  calm  again.  The  weather  was 
nearly  always  fair,  with  light  winds  or  none;  and 
often  they  saw  an  approaching  cloud  divide  be 
fore  it  reached  their  atoll  and  pass  on  either  hand, 
leaving  it  serenely  safe  between  the  two  paths  of 
the  tempest.  At  last,  how  long  after  their  return 
Fenton  could  not  tell,  in  his  indifference  to  the 
passage  of  the  weeks  and  days, — a  change  came  over 
the  sky  different  from  any  that  had  portended  other 
storms,  and  before  night  a  hurricane  broke  from  it 
that  heaped  the  sea  around  their  island,  and  drove  it 
across  the  lagoon  and  high  over  the  plateau.  For 
two  days  and  nights  it  beat  against  the  walls  of  their 
tower ;  then  the  waters  went  down,  and  the  ravaged 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  437 

atoll  rose  from  the  sea  again.  But  when  Fenton 
clambered  to  the  top  of  the  tower,  and  looked  out,  he 
saw  that  it  could  no  longer  be  a  refuge  to  them. 
The  trees  of  the  cocoa  groves  were  blown  down  and 
flung  hither  and  thither ;  their  tops  were  twisted  off 
and  tossed  into  the  lagoon  ;  their  trunks  lay  tangled 
and  intertwisted,  as  if  they  had  been  straws  in  the 
frolic  of  a  whirlwind.  The  smooth  beach  of  the 
lagoon  was  strewn  with  fragments  of  coral,  torn  from 
the  reef  and  tossed  upon  it ;  the  grassy  level  where 
the  sea-birds  nested  was  scattered  with  their  dead 
bodies,  caught  among  the  coarse  herbage  and  beaten 
into  the  white  sand. 

He  left  Giflen  cowering  within,  and  ran  down 
from  the  tower  to  look  for  the  boat.  He  found  it 
lodged  in  a  heap  of  cocoa  fronds,  and  wedged  fast 
among  some  blocks  of  coral;  and  he  hurried  back 
with  his  good  news.  He  met  Giffen  at  the  door. 
"All  right,"  he  said  to  the  anxious  face.  "The  boat 
is  safe,  and  we  must  get  her  afloat.  You  see  we  can't 
stay  here." 

"No,"  said  Giffen,  "we  can't  stay."  He  looked 
drearily  out  over  the  wreck  of  their  fairy  isle,  and 
then  with  a  sigh  he  turned  into  the  tower  again, 
and  crouched  down  in  the  corner  where  Fenton  had 
left  him. 

"  What 's  the  matter  1  Are  you  sick,  Giffen  1 " 
demanded  Fenton. 

Giffen  did  not  answer,  but  rose  with  a  stupid  air, 
and  came  out  into  the  sun.  He  shivered,  but 
gathered  himself  together,  and  in  a  dull  mechanical 


438  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

way  set  about  his  usual  work  of  getting  breakfast. 
He  ate  little,  but  when  Feriton  had  finished,  he  went 
with  him,  and  helped  him  to  cut  the  boat  free.  It 
was  hard  getting  it  out  of  the  mass  of  rocks  and 
boughs,  and  it  was  noon  before  they  had  dragged 
her  back  from  the  point  where  the  sea  had  carried  her 
to  a  free  space  where  they  could  begin  to  repair  her. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  they  had  her  afloat  in  the 
lagoon  once  more,  and  provisioned  from  the  stores 
accumulated  in  the  tower. 

The  morning  when  they  were  to  set  sail,  Giffen 
could  not  rise  from  his  bed  of  grass.  "  I  can't  go," 
he  said  ;  "  I  'm  sick." 

Fenton  had  seen  that  he  was  ailing  with  a  fear 
from  which  he  revolted  in  a  frenzy  of  impatient  exer 
tion.  If  they  were  but  once  at  sea  again,  he  had 
crazily  reasoned  with  himself,  then  they  could  not 
help  themselves,  and,  sick  or  well,  they  must  make 
the  best  of  it.  This  illusion  failed  him  now,  and  he 
abandoned  himself  to  a  cynical  scorn  of  all  that  had 
hitherto  supported  and  consoled  him.  Every  act  of 
self-sacrifice,  every  generous  impulse,  seemed  to  him 
the  part  of  a  fool  or  a  madman.  Till  now  he  had 
thought  that  he  had  somehow  endured  and  dared  all 
things  for  Helen's  sake,  that  anything  less  than  he 
had  done  would  have  been  unworthy  of  her;  but 
now  the  devil  that  was  uppermost  in  him  mocked 
him  with  the  suggestion  that  the  best  he  could  ever 
have  done  for  her  was  to  live  for  her,  and  do  his 
utmost  to  return  to  her.  As  he  stood  looking  at  the 
face  of  the  poor  wretch  who  had  twice  betrayed  him 
to  despair,  and  who,  at  last,  in  this  supreme  moment, 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  439 

had  fallen  helpless  across  the  only  avenue  of  escape 
that  remained  to  him,  he  trembled  with  a  strong  temp 
tation.  He  turned  away,  and  went  down  to  the  lagoon- 
beach,  where  the  boat  swung  at  anchor,  and  the  sail, 
on  which  he  had  worked  late  the  night  before,  lay 
on  the  sand,  ready  to  be  stepped.  The  boat  lightly 
pulled  at  its  moorings  on  the  falling  tide,  and  he  felt 
the  strain  as  if  it  had  been  anchored  in  his  heart. 
He  drew  it  to  the  shore ;  he  stepped  the  mast,  and 
ran  up  the  sail,  which  filled  and  tugged  in  the 
morning  breeze.  He  dropped  it  again,  and  went 
back  to  Giffen. 

As  the  days  passed,  he  watched  with  the  sick  man, 
and  brought  him  the  water  he  craved,  and  the  food 
he  loathed ;  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done.  One 
night  Giffen  roused  himself  from  the  torpor  in  which 
he  remained  sunken,  for  the  most  part,  and  asked  : 
"  Did  you  ever  hear  that  people  were  not  afraid  to 
die  when  they  came  to  itf 

"  1  've  heard  that — yes,"  said  Fenton. 

"  I  just  happened  to  think  of  it ;  because  this  is  the 
first  time,  since  I  can  remember,  that  I  wasn't  afraid. 
I  was  awfully  afraid  to  stay  with  you  on  that  rock 
when  the  captain's  boat  went  away ;  but  I  ain't  sorry 
for  it  now.  No,  sir,  you  've  behaved  to  me  like  a 
white  man  from  the  start ;  and  now,  I  '11  tell  you 
what  I  want  you  to  do.  I  'm  all  right  here, — or  I 
will  be,  pretty  soon,  I  reckon — and  I  don't  want  you 
to  lose  any  more  time.  The  boat 's  ready,  and  now 's 
your  last  chance.  Don't  you  mind  me ;  I'  d  only 
bring  you  bad  luck,  any  way.  If  you  find  land,  or 
a  ship  picks  you  up,  you  can  come  back  and  see  how 
J  'm  getting  along." 


440  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

What  had  been  Fenton's  temptation  became  the 
burden  of  the  sick  man's  delirium,  and  he  frantically 
urged  him  to  go  while  there  was  still  time.  He 
seemed  to  wear  this  notion  out  through  mere  iter 
ation  ;  and  at  last,  when  he  awoke  one  day,  "I 
dreamt/'  he  said,  "that  there  was  a  ship!"  That 
night,  sleeping  or  waking,  he  raved  of  a  ship  that 
had  come  to  take  them  away.  The  third  morning 
after,  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  into  his  com 
rade's  face  with  ominous  recovery  of  intelligence. 
"  Has  it  come  1"  he  asked  eagerly.  "  The  ship  T' 

"No,  you  dreamed  it,  Giffen,"  returned  Fenton, 
with  a  tender  compassion  unalloyed  by  self-pity. 

"  My  luck,"  said  Giffen.  He  gasped,  and  made  a 
mechanical,  effort  to  rise.  He  gave  a  sort  of  cry, 
and  fixed  a  stare  of  wild  demand  on  Fenton,  who 
caught  him  in  his  arms. 

Fenton  covered  up  the  dead  face  with  a  branch  of 
palm,  and  walked  giddily  out  into  the  sun.  It  was 
rising  a  red,  rayless  ball,  and  against  this  disk  the 
figure  of  a  ship  seemed  printed.  He  passed  his  hand 
over  his  eyes,  but  when  he  took  it  away,  the  spectre 
remained.  He  thought  he  saw  a  boat  lying  at  the 
lagoon-beach,  and  her  crew  advancing  up  the  sand 
toward  him,  men  with  friendly,  home-like  faces. 
They  wavered  and  glided  in  the  vision  his  watch- 
worn  eyes  reported  to  his  reeling  brain. 

Then  one  of  them  called  out  to  the  strange  figure, 
with  matted  hair,  and  long  beard,  and  haggard  eyes, 
that  had  stopped  as  if  with  the  impulse  to  turn  and 
fly,— "Hallo!1 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  441 

A  shudder  went  through  Fenton  as  he  stayed  him 
self,  and  faced  the  men  again.  He  could  not  speak, 
but  the  men  waited.  At  last,  "  For  God's  sake,"  he 
gasped,  "are  you  something  in  a  dream  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  the  leader  with  slow  gentleness,  as 
if  giving  the  idea  consideration.  "  We  're  a  boat's 
crew  from  the  whale-ship  Martha  Brigham  of  New 
Bedford,  come  ashore  to  see  what  that  smoke  means. 
Who  are  you  1" 


XXI. 

"I  WISH  to  speak  with  you,  Marian — instantly !" 
cried  Helen,  re-appearing  at  the  Butlers'.  Marian 
was  alone  in  her  room ;  Mrs.  Butler  was  lying  down, 
and  the  younger  sisters  were  on  the  rocks  by  the 
sea,  looking  across  the  cove  to  the  rocks  on  the 
Wilson  place,  as  if  they  might  hope  to  rend  from 
them  the  secret  of  what  had  happened  when  Helen 
and  Lord  Rainford  met  in  the  Wilson  cottage.  With 
the  inhumanity  of  their  youth  and  inexperience  they 
thought  it  very  funny,  and  they  had  come  away 
where  they  could  enjoy  this  sense  of  it,  apart  from 
those  to  whom  it  seemed  a  serious  affair. 

It  had  become  so  serious  to  Marian,  that  she 
quaked  in  rising  to  meet  Helen,  as  if  she  had  been 
rising  to  meet  Helen's  ghost,  and  she  no  more 
thought  of  asking  her  to  sit  down  than  of  offering  a 
chair  to  an  apparition. 

"  I  didn't  know  he  was  to  be  there,  Helen,  indeed 
I  didn't,"  she  made  out  to  say,  after  the  moment  in 
which  she  had  remained  fascinated  by  the  intensity 
of  the  girl's  face. 

"  Oh,  it 's  long  past,  that !"  cried  Helen.  "  What 
I  wish  you  to  tell  me  is  simply  this,  Marian  Ray  :  Is 
your  husband  part  of  your  whole  life,  and  was  he 
from  the  very  first  instant  V 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  443 

"From  the  yery  first  instant1?" 

"  That  you  were  married — so  that  you  couldn't 
think,  couldn't  consider — whether  you  cared  for  him 
— loved  him  1" 

"  Of  course !  It  was  all  settled  long  before. 
Did—" 

"  I  knew  it !  And  if  it  isn't  settled  before,  it 's  no 
time  afterwards  ? " 

"  What  an  idea !     What  do  you  mean,  Helen  V 

"  And  it 's  all  false  about  girls  that  marry  a  man 
because  they  respect  and  honour  him,  and  then  have 
a  romantic  time  finding  out  that  they  love  him  1" 

"  What  nonsense  !  It 's  the  most  ridiculous  thing 
in  the  world !  But — " 

"  I  was  sure  of  it!  If  there 's  anything  sacred  about 
marrying,  it 's  the  love  that  makes  it  so ;  and  they 
might  as  well  marry  for  money  or  position  ! "  She  hid 
her  face  in  her  hands,  and  then  burst  out  again  :  "  But 
I  will  never  have  such  a  hideous  thing  on  my  con 
science — such  a  ghastly  wrong  to  him !  He  said 
himself  that  if  I  wasn't  sure  that  I  cared  for  Robert, 
it  would  have  been  unjust  to  marry  him ;  and  now 
how  is  it  better  with  him  ?  It 's  worse  !  He  said 
it  to  comfort  me,  and  it  seems  monstrous  to  turn  his 
words  against  him ;  but  if  the  truth  kills  him  he  had 
better  die !  Yes,  a  thousand  times !  And  don't 
suppose  I  didn't  see  all  the  advantages  of  accepting 
him  that  you  did ;  and  that  I  wasn't  tempted  to 
persuade  myself  that  I  should  care  for  him.  I  only 
blush  and  burn  to  think  that  I  saw  them,  and  that 
I  've  come  away,  even  now,  without  crushing  every 
spark  of  hope  out  of  him  !  I  do  respect  and  honour 
him — yes,  he  is  high-minded  and  good  every  way;  but 


444  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

if  I  don't  love  him,  his  being  so  good  is  all  the  more 
reason  why  I  shouldn't  marry  him.  Hush !  Don't 
say  a  word,  Marian  !"  she  cried,  hastening  to  spoil 
her  point,  as  women  will,  with  hysterical  insistence. 
"  That  dreadful  old  man  who  bought  our  house  came, 
while  you  were  gone,  and  offered  himself  to  me  one 
day :  it  makes  me  creep  !  How  would  it  be  any 
better  to  marry  Lord  Rainford,  if  I  didn't  love  him, 
than  to  marry  Mr.  Everton  1 " 

She  did  not  wait  for  the  indignant  protest  that 
was  struggling  through  Marian's  bewilderment  at 
this  extraordinary  revelation  and  assumption.  "I 
shall  always  say  that  you  meant  the  kindest  and 
best ;  but  if  you  try  to  argue  with  me  now,  I  shall 
never  forgive  you  !  Good-bye,  dear  !"  She  flew  at 
her  friend,  and  catching  her  round  the  neck,  convul 
sively  kissed  her,  and  ran  out  of  the  house,  without 
seeing  any  one  else.  "  To  the  station/'  she  gasped, 
climbing  into  the  Wilson  phaeton.  "  And,  do 
hurry,  please ! " 

Mrs.  Butler  came  into  Marian's  room  as  soon  as 
Helen  had  driven  away.  "  WelH"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  she's  refused  him, — or  just  the  same  thing! 
How  shall  we  meet  him  1  What  shall  we  do  1" 

"  I'm  not  concerned  about  that.  What  will  she 
do,  poor  thing  1  That 's  what  wrings  my  heart. 
She  has  thrown  away  the  greatest  chance  that  a 
girl  ever  did  :  wealth,  position,  devoted  goodness, 
the  truest  and  noblest  heart! —  Marian!"  cried 
Mrs.  Butler,  abandoning  herself  for  a  moment  to 
her  compassionate  impatience,  "  why  did  she  do 
it?" 

"She    said    she    didn't     love    him,"     answered 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  445 

Marian   shortly,   with  a  cast  of  contempt   in   the 
shortness. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Butler,  with  resignation. 
She  had  found,  as  every  woman  must,  who  lives  to 
her  age,  that  life  has  so  many  great  interests  besides 
love,  that  for  the  time  she  was  confused  as  to  the 
justice  of  its  paramount  claim  in  a  question  of  mar 
riage. 

In  fact,  Helen  found  her  champions  in  two  men. 
When  Mrs.  Butler  stated  the  case  to  the  Captain, 
he  promptly  approved  of  Helen's  decision. 

Mrs.  Butler  stood  surprised.  "  Why,  do  you  think 
that  people  ought  to  marry  from  a  fancy?"  she 
asked. 

"  I  hope  my  girls  will  never  marry  without  it," 
said  the  Captain. 

Marion  reported  the  result  to  Ray,  with  a  vexation 
at  Helen's  ridiculous  behaviour,  which  he  allowed 
her  to  vent  freely  before  he  answered  her  a  word, 
chewing  the  end  of  his  cigarette,  as  they  walked  to 
the  house  together  from  the  beach,  where  she  found 
him  pulling  his  dory  up  on  the  sand.  "  It 's  not 
only  that  she 's  thrown  away  such  a  splendid  chance, 
but  she  's  thrown  it  away  for  the  mere  memory  of  a 
man  who  couldn't  compare  with  Lord  Rainford  in 
any  way — even  if  he  were  alive.  And  when  Robert 
Fenton  was  alive,  she  wasn't  certain,  till  it  was  too 
late,  that  she  cared  for  him ;  and  kept  him  waiting 
for  years  and  years,  till  she  could  make  up  her  mind, 
and  had  to  quarrel  with  him  then  before  she  was 
sure  of  it.  And  now  for  her  to  pretend  that  she 
never  can  care  for  any  one  else,  and  that  she  can't 
marry  Lord  Rainford  because  she  doesn't  love  him — 


446  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

as  if  she  were  a  girl  of  seventeen,  instead  of  twenty- 
five  !  Oh  !  I've  no  patience  with  her  ! " 

Ray  said  nothing  for  a  moment.  Then,  "  There 's 
some  difference  between  not  being  sure,  you  do,  and 
being  sure  you  don't,"  he  remarked  quietly,  "  and 
the  difference  doesn't  seem  to  be  in  Rainford's 
favour."  After  a  moment,  he  asked,  without  look 
ing  at  her,  "  What  did  you  marry  me  for  ]  " 

"  What  nonsense  !     You  know  !  " 

"Yes,  I  always  thought  it  was  for  love.  How 
would  you  like  to  have  me  think  it  wasn't  1" 

"  Don't  be  absurd  !"  cried  his  wife.  But  his 
words  went  deep,  and  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart  she 
felt  in  them  a  promise  of  the  perpetual  reconsecra- 
tion  of  their  marriage. 

A  story  was  at  one  time  current  (and  still  has  its 
adherents  among  those  who  knew  vaguely  something 
of  Helen's  romance)  to  the  effect  that  Fenton  returned 
at  a  moment  when  his  presence  seemed  a  miracle 
opportunely  wrought  to  save  her  from  further 
struggle,  and  to  reward  her  for  all  her  suffering  and 
self-sacrifice  in  the  past.  It  fixed  with  much  accu 
racy  of  date  and  circumstance  the  details  of  their 
dramatic  meeting  at  the  little  house  in  the  Port, 
where  she  found  him  waiting  for  her  one  hot,  dusty 
afternoon  in  the  summer,  when  she  came  back, 
broken  in  health  and  spirit,  from  a  visit  with  some 
friends  at  the  sea-side.  If  the  story  had  been  true, 
it  would  have  brought  them  together  the  very  day 
Helen  refused  Lord  Rain  ford. 

But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  went  back  to  her  work 
of  making  bonnets  for  cooks  and  second-girls  in 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  447 

Margaret's  cottage  on  Limekiln  Avenue,  under  con 
ditions  that  would  have  caused  an  intelligent  witness 
of  it  to  wonder  whether  she  were  not  expiating  an 
error  rather  than  enjoying  the  recompense  of  devotion 
to  a  high  ideal.  The  rewards  of  principle  are  often 
scarcely  distinguishable  from  penalties,  and  the 
spectator  is  confounded  between  question  of  the 
martyr's  wisdom  and  a  dark  doubt  of  the  value  of 
living  out  any  real  conviction  in  a  world  so  badly 
constituted  as  this.  Helen,  however,  was  harassed 
by  neither  of  these  misgivings.  She  never  regretted 
her  refusal  of  Lord  Rainford,  except  for  the  pain  it 
inflicted ;  she  never  blamed  herself  for  anything  but 
the  hesitation  in  which  she  was  tempted  to  accept 
him  without  loving  him.  Her  sense  of  self-ap 
proval  grew  only  the  stronger  and  clearer  with 
the  trials  which  gathered  upon  her  in  what  might 
have  seemed  to  others  a  sort  of  malign  derision. 
Her  custom  fell  off,  and  the  patrons  who  remained 
to  her  grew  inevitably  more  and  more  into  an  odious 
mastery ;  their  exactions  increased  as  her  health 
failed,  and  she  could  not  always  keep  her  promises 
to  them  ;  they  complained  that  other  people's  bon 
nets  were  better  made,  and  "  more  in  the  style." 

One  night  she  overheard  through  the  thin  parti 
tion  that  separated  her  chamber  from  Margaret's  a 
tipsy  threat  from  Margaret's  husband  that  he  was 
going  to  be  master  in  his  own  house ;  and  that  he 
was  going  to  turn  that  girl  and  her  bonnets  into  the 
street.  He  went  off  to  his  work  in  the  morning, 
sullen  and  lowering,  and  she  and  Margaret  could 
not  look  at  each  other.  She  fled  to  Boston  for  the 
day,  which  she  passed  in  incoherent  terror  at  Clara 


448  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Kingsbury's ;  when  she  turned  from  this  misery  the 
next  morning  and  ventured  back  to  Margaret's,  an 
explosion  at  the  glass-works,  so  opportune  that  it 
seemed  to  her  for  a  black  instant  as  if  she  were 
guilty  of  the  calamity  through  which  she  escaped, 
had  freed  her  from  all  she  had  to  dread  from  Mar 
garet's  husband. 

But  quite  the  same  end  of  her  experiment  had 
come.  Margaret  could  not  live  upon  the  littie 
sum  that  Helen  paid  her  for  board ;  in  spite  of  her 
impassioned  devotion  to  her  darling,  and  her  good 
intention  (witnessed  again  and  again  to  all  the 
saints),  she  was  forced  to  break  up  her  little 
establishment  and  find  a  servant's  place ;  and  Helen 
did  not  know  where  else  to  go. 

In  her  extremity  she  appealed,  of  course,  neither 
to  the  Butlers  nor  to  Clara  Kingsbury,  but  to  Cor 
nelia  Koot,  and  this  proved  to  be  the  most  fortunate 
as  well  as  the  most  natural  course.  Zenas  Pearson 
had  just  moved  his  photographic  establishment  up 
from  Hanover  Street  to  the  fashionable  quarter  of  the 
town,  and  had  applied  to  Cornelia  for  some  pretty- 
appearing,  respectable  girl,  to  stay  in  the  front  room 
and  receive  people,  and  show  them  the  different 
styles  of  photographs,  and  help  them  to  decide  in 
what  shape  and  size  they  would  be  taken.  There 
was  nothing  mean  about  Zenas  Pearson,  and  he  was 
willing,  he  told  Cornelia,  to  pay  the  right  girl  ten 
dollars  a  week  as  a  start-off,  and  to  put  it  up  to 
twelve  within  the  year  if  she  behaved  herself,  and 
showed  any  sconce  for  the  business. 

Cornelia  trembled  with  excitement  and  eagerness 
in  laying  the  proposition  before  a  person  so  perfectly 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  449 

adapted  to  the  place  in  every  respect  as  Helen,  and 
they  did  not  lose  an  instant  in  going  to  Zenas  and 
closing  with  him.  Did  she  want  to  come  right 
off]  he  asked  Helen,  and  at  a  little  hesitation  on  her 
part  he  looked  more  closely  at  her  worn  face  and 
said,  "  Well,  take  a  week  to  recuperate,  and  come 
the  20th.  I  don't  know  as  I  '11  be  ready  for  you 
much  before  that  time,  any  way." 

She  spent  the  week  with  the  Butlers,  who  were 
now  too  well  used  to  her  eccentricity  to  attempt  any 
protest  against  this  new  phase  of  it.  They  had  all 
reconciled  themselves  to  her  refusal  of  Lord  Rain- 
ford  ;  even  Marian  Ray  had  accepted  the  inevitable, 
and  she  and  Helen  had  a  long  quiet  talk  about  the 
matter,  in  which  they  fully  made  up  what  had 
almost  been  a  quarrel  between  them  about  it,  and 
Marian  told  her  the  latest  news  of  him,  and  how 
splendidly  he  had  behaved  about  her,  justifying 
and  applauding  her  with  a  manly  self-abnegation 
which  permitted  no  question  of  her  conduct  through 
out. 

"  Yes,  he  is  very  generous,"  said  Helen,  with  a 
sigh ;  and  something  happened  that  day  which  made 
her  feel  that  the  word  was  hardly  adequate.  She 
had  gone  with  Marian,  who  wished  to  give  some 
instructions  about  a  picture  she  was  having  framed, 
to  the  shop  where  Helen  had  her  memorable  meet 
ing  with  Lord  Rainford ;  and  when  the  business 
was  finished  the  proprietor  said  with  a  certain  hesi 
tation  :  "  Miss  Harkness,  you  remember  being  in 
our  place  about  a  year  ago  with  an  English  gentle 
man  who  was  looking  at  some  imitation  limoges 
in  the  window  ]  " 

2  F 


450 

Helen  looked  an  amazed,  and  perhaps  alarmed, 
assent. 

"  He  came  back  and  bought  them  after  you  went 
away,  and  said  he  would  send  his  address  ;  but 
we  've  never  heard  of  him  from  that  day  to  this, 
and  we  don't  want  his  jars  and  his  money.  I 
thought  perhaps  you  could  tell  me  who  he  was." 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen,  "  it  was  Lord  Rainford.  But 
he  's  in  England  now." 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  proprietor.  And  as  she  said 
nothing  more,  he  presently  bowed  himself  apolo 
getically  away. 

"  Why  didn't  you  let  me  give  his  address  1 " 
asked  Marian,  who  had  been  checked  in  a  wish  to 
do  so  by  a  glance  from  Helen. 

"  I  don't  believe  he  ever  intended  to  take  them 
away  ;  he  thought  they  were  hideous,"  Helen  an 
swered.  She  added  presently,  "  He  must  have  gone 
back  to  buy  them  because  I  said  that  the  poor 
yretch  who  painted  them  was  to  be  pitied !  " 
(^Marian  had  now  been  at  home  more  than  six 
months,  and  her  Anglo-mania  had  in  some  degree 
abated.  Slie_^o__loiiger_expected  to  establish  an 
hereditary  aristocj^£^_and_a^tate  "CTiufcE"  among 
us,  whatever  she ^secrt^lyL^iih^d~To~~Ho7  ~She"Tlad 
gFown  resigned  to  the  anomalies  Trf  tyur  "civilisation 
in  some  degree.  She  had  rediscovered  certain  traits 
of  it  that  compared  favourably  even  with  those  of 
England ;  but  she  cherished  a  conviction  that  an 
English  noble  was  the  finest  gentleman  hi  the  world  ; 
that  her  own  husband  was  still  finer  was  a  mystery 
of  faith,  easily  tenable,  though  not  susceptible  of 
exegesis.  "~7 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  451 

She  now  preserved  the  silence  of  one  whose  point 
has  been  sufficiently  made  for  her,  and  left  Helen  to 
recognise  it.  Helen  was  not  reluctant  to  do  so. 
"  Yes,  Marian,"  she  said  fervently,  "  considering 
what  had  just  happened,  that  was  very  magnani 
mous  in  him.  It  was  exquisite  !  " 

"  Oh,  it  was  merely  what  he  owed  to  himself  as  a 
gentleman,"  said  Marian,  with  well-concealed  triumph. 

It  seemed  to  be  a  day  of  trial  for  Helen.  A 
gaunt,  shabby  man,  coming  down  the  pavement 
towards  them,  lifted  his  hand  half-way  to  his  hat 
at  sight  of  her,  and  then,  as  if  seeing  himself 
unrecognised,  dropped  it  to  his  side  again,  and 
slunk  by.  Helen  turned  and  stopped  him.  "  Mr. 
Kimball !  Is  that  you  ]" 

"  Yes,  what  there  is  left,"  answered  Kimball,  with 
a  ghost  of  his  old  quizzical  smile,  and  the  spectre 
of  his  municipal,  office-holding  patronage  of  manner, 
as  he  took  Helen's  extended  hand. 

"  Why— why— what 's  the  matter  ?" 

"  Well,  I  've  been  sick  for  a  spell  back.  Just 
got  to  knocking  round  again,"  said  Kimball  eva 
sively.  "  You  don't  look  over  and  above  well  your 
self,  Miss  Harkness." 

"  No,  no,  I  'm  not  well.  But  I  'm  better  now. 
Are  you — "  She  stopped,  with  her  eyes  upon  his 
conspicuous  shabbiness,  and,  through  an  irresistible 
association  of  ideas,  she  added — "Mr.  Kimball,  I> 
hope  you  got  the  money  that  I  returned  to  you 
safely  1 " 

Kimball  hung  his  head,  and  kicked  the  pave 
ment  with  his  toe.  "  Well,  no,"  he  answered  re 
luctantly,  "  I  didn't." 


452  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

"You  didn't  get  it  ?" 

"  It 's  all  right.  I  told  my  wife  at  the  time  that 
I  knew  you  sent  it.  But  I  guess  somebody  in  the 
Post-Office  got  the  start  of  me." 

"  Why  didrit  you  tell  me  1 "  demanded  Helen. 

"  Well,  you  know,  I  couldn't  do  that,"  said  Kim- 
ball. 

Helen  took  out  her  purse.  There  were  only  twelve 
dollars  in  it,  and  Marian  had  walked  on,  so  that  she 
could  not  borrow  of  her,  and  make  up  the  whole  sum 
at  once.  But  she  put  the  money  in  Kimball's  hand, 
and  said,  "  I  will  bring  you  the  rest  this  very  day. 
Shall  I  bring  it  to  the  Custom-House  1 " 

"  0  no ;  there  's  been  a  change,  you  know.  My 
collector  was  kicked  out,  and  all  our  heads  went 
into  tbe  basket  together.  '  I  ain't  there  any  more. 
I  guess  we  '11  call  this  square  now.  I  don't  feel 
just  right  about  taking  this  money,  Miss  H ark- 
ness.  But  I  Ve  been  sick,  and  my  wife  ain't  very 
well  herself;  and — well,  I  guess  it's  a  godsend." 
His  lips  twitched.  "  I  feel  kind  of  mean  about  it, 
but  I  '11  have  to  stand  it.  There  ain't  a  thing  in 
the  house,  or  I  wouldn't  take  it.  My  wife  and  me 
both  said  we  knew  you  sent  it." 

"-Who  in  the  world  is  your  shabby  friend^  Helen  ? " 
demanded  Marian  when  Helen  had  overtakenThei^at 
last. 

"  Oh,  he  used  to  be  in  the  Custom-House.  He  's 
a  character.  He's  the  one  who  told  Lord  Bain- 
ford,  when  he  offered  to  deposit  money  for  the  duties 
on  those  Egyptian  things  he  brought  me  from  you, 
that  it  wasn't  necessary  between  gentlemen  ! " 

"  How  amusing !" 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  453 

"  Yes,  I  thought  it  Avas  amusing  too.  But  I  don't 
think  I  can  ever  laugh  at  him  again."  She  shut 
her  lips  till  she  could  command  her  voice  sufficiently 
to  tell  what  had  just  passed  between  her  and  Kim- 
ball. 

Marian  p.nT)f.innp.d  t.n  frp  a.nmiap.d  by  if..  In  the 
flush  of  her  re-Anglicisation,  she  said  it  was  a  very 
American  affair.  But  she  added  that  something 
ought  really  to  be  done  for  the  chivalric  simple- 
ton^  and  that  she  was  going  to  tell  Ray  about 
him. 

During  the  week  that  Helen  spent  with  the 
Butlers,  before  she  was  to  take  her  place  in  Zenas 
Pearson's  Photographic  Parlours,  as  he  called  them, 
the  wisdom  of  her  decision  was  tested  by  another 
incident  or  accident — one  of  those  chances  of  real 
life  which  one  must  hesitate  to  record  because  they 
have  so  much  the  air  of  having  been  contrived. 
From  her  life  in  the  Port  she  had  contracted  the 
suburban  habit  of  lunching  at  restaurants,  so  alien 
to  the  Bostonian  lady  proper ;  and  one  day,  when 
she  was  down  town  alone,  she  found  herself  at  a 
table  in  Parker's,  so  near  that  of  two  other  ladies 
that  she  could  not  help  hearing  what  they  said. 
They  were  both  dressed  with  a  certain  floridity,  and 
one  was  of  a  fearless,  good-humoured  beauty,  who 
stared  a  great  deal  about  the  room  and  out  of  the 
window,  and,  upon  the  whole,  seemed  amused  to 
realise  herself  in  Boston,  as  if  it  were  a  place  whose 
peculiarities  she  had  reflected  much  upon,  without 
being  greatly  awed  or  dazzled  by  them.  "  We  used 
to  see  a  great  many  Bostonians  in  California  when 
the  Pacific  road  was  first  opened.  They  came  out 


454  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

there  in  shoals,  and  I  afterwards  met  them  in  Japan, 
— men,  I  mean,  of  course.  I  had  quite  a  flirtation 
with  one — the  pleasantest  one  I  ever  met."  The 
lady  breathed,  above  the  spoil  of  the  quail-on-toast 
before  her,  a  sigh  to  the  memory  of  this  agreeable 
passage  of  her  life.  "  Yes,  a  regular  flirtation.  It 
was  on  the  steamer  coming  to  San  Francisco ;  and 
he  was  on  his  way  home  to  be  married,  poor  fellow, 
and  I  suppose  he  thought,  Now  or  never!  The 
steamer  broke  her  shaft,  and  had  to  put  back  to 
Japan,  and  he  took  passage  home  on  a  sailing  vessel 
that  we  hailed,  and  she  was  lost,  and  the  last  that 
was  known  of  him  he  was  left  on  a  reef  in  the 
Pacific  with  three  others,  while  a  boatful  of  people 
went  off  to  prospect  for  land.  When  the  boat  came 
back  they  were  gone,  and  nobody  ever  knew  what 
became  of  them." 

"  And  whatever  became  of  the  girl,  Mrs.  Bowers  1 " 

"  Oh,  as  to  that  this  deponent  saith  not.  Con 
soled  herself,  I  suppose,  in  the  usual  way." 

The  two  women  laughed  together,  and  began  to 
pull  up  their  sacks,  which  had  dropped  from  their 
shoulders  into  their  chairs  behind  them. 

Helen  tried  to  speak,  but  she  could  not.  She 
tried  to  rise  and  seize  the  woman  before  she  left 
the  room,  to  make  her  render  some  account  of  her 
words.  But  the  shame  of  a  terrible  doubt  crushed 
her  with  a  burden  under  which  she  could  not 
move.  When  the  waiter,  respectfully  hovering  near, 
approached  at  last,  and,  viewing  her  untouched  plate, 
suggestively  asked  if  he  could  bring  her  anything 
more,  she  said  "No,"  and  paid  her  check  and  came 
out. 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON  455 

It  was  a  beautiful  day,  but  she  walked  spiritlessly 
along  in  the  sunshine  that  seemed  to  smile  life  into 
everything  but  her ;  and  she  feebly  sought  to  adjust 
the  pang  of  this  last  blow  to  some  misdeed  of  her 
own.  But  she  could  not.  She  could  only  think 
how  she  should  once  have  contrasted  Lord  Rain- 
ford's  nobleness  with  Robert's  folly,  and  indignantly 
preferred  him.  But  now  she  was  aware  of  not 
having  the  strength  to  'do  this — of  not  being  able 
to  pluck  her  heart  from  the  idea  to  which  love  and 
loss  had  rooted  it ;  and  she  could  not  even  wish  to 
wish  anything  but  to  die.  In  another  world,  per 
haps — if  there  were  any  other  world — Robert  could 
explain  and  justify  the  weakness  for  which  she  could 
not  do  other  than  pity  him  here. 

Her  brain  was  so  dull  and  jaded  withal,  that  when 
she  dragged  herself  wearily  up  the  steps  at  the 
Butlers'  door,  she  felt  no  surprise  that  it  should  be  the 
old  Captain  who  opened  it  to  her,  or  that  he  should 
seek  to  detain  her  in  the  drawing-room  alone  with 
him.  At  last  she  found  something  strange  in  his 
manner,  something  mysterious  in  the  absence  of  all 
the  others,  and  she  asked,  "  What  is  it,  Captain 
Butler  1" 

He  seemed  troubled,  as  though  he  felt  himself 
unequal  to  the  task  before  him.  "  Helen,"  he  began, 
"  do  you  still  sometimes  think  that  those  men's  story 
about  Robert  wasn't  true  ] " 

"I  know  it  wasn't  true.  I  always  knew  they 
killed  him.  Why  do  you  ask  me  that  ? " 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,"  returned  the  Captain,  with 
increasing  trouble-,  "  but  that  perhaps  he — " 

She  turned  upon  him  in  awful  quiet.     "  Captain 


456  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

Butler,  don't  try  to  soften  or  break  any  bad  news 
to  me  !  What  is  it  I  haven't  borne  that  you  think 
I  must  be  spared  now  1  You  will  make  it  worse, 
whatever  you  are  keeping  back.  Did  they  leave 
him  there  to  starve  on  that  rock  1  Did — " 

"  No — no.  It  isn't  that.  Mrs.  Butler  thought 
that  I  could  prepare — we  Ve  had  news — " 

"  News  *? — prepare  1  Oh,  how  can  you  mock  me 
so  ?  For  pity's  sake,  what  is  it  1" 

The  Captain's  poor  attempt  to  mediate  between 
her  and  whatever  fact  he  was  concealing  broke  down 
in  the  appeal  with  which  he  escaped  from  Helen 
through  the  open  door,  and  called  his  wife.  She 
came  quickly,  as  if  she  had  been  waiting  near ;  and 
as  on  that  day  when  she  had  told  the  girl  of  her 
father's  death,  she  took  her  fast  in  her  arms.  Per 
haps  the  thoughts  of  both  went  back  to  that  hour. 

"  Helen— Helen— Helen  !  It 's  life  this  time  ! 
You  have  borne  the  worst  so  bravely,  I  know  you 
can  bear  the  best.  Robert  is  here  !" 

The  papers  of  that  time  gave  full  particulars  of 
Fenton's  rescue  from  the  island  on  which  he  was 
cast  away,  and  the  reader  can  hardly  have  forgotten 
them.  It  is  unnecessary  even  to  record  the  details 
of  his  transfer,  after  several  months,  from  the  whaler 
which  took  him  off,  to  another  vessel  homeward 
bound,  and  of  his  final  arrival  in  San  Francisco. 
When  the  miracle  of  his  resurrection  had  become 
familiar  enough  for  Helen  to  begin  to  touch  it  at 
here  and  there  a  point,  she  asked  him  why  he 
did  not  telegraph  her  from  San  Francisco  as  soon 
as  he  landed,  and  instantly  answered  herself  that 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  457 

it  would  have  killed  her  if  he  had  done  so ;  and 
that  if  he  had  not  been  there  at  once  to  help  her 
bear  the  fact  of  his  being  alive,  she  could  not  have 
borne  it. 

They  were  married,  and  went  to  live  in  a  little 
house  in  a  retired  street  of  Old  Cambridge,  and 
Margaret  came  to  live  with  them.  She  sacrificed 
to  this  end  an  ideal  place  in  an  expressman's  family 
in  East  Somerville,  where  she  had  the  sole  charge 
of  the  housework  for  twelve  persons ;  but  it  was 
something  that  Miss  Helen  kept  no  other  girl ;  and 
it  was  everything  that  she  could  be  with  her  when 
Lieutenant  Fenton  should  be  ordered  away  to  sea 
again.  He  had  six  months'  leave,  and  he  tried  to 
find  some  occupation  which  would  justify  him  in 
quitting  the  navy.  He  found  nothing,  and  in  the 
leisure  of  this  time  Helen  and  he  concerned  them 
selves  rather  with  their  past  than  their  future. 
They  rehabilitated  every  moment  of  it  for  each  other  ; 
and,  as  their  lives  came  completely  together  again, 
he  developed  certain  limitations  which  at  first 
puzzled  her.  She  did  not  approach  that  passage 
which  related  to  Lord  Eainford  without  trying  to 
establish  defences  from  which,  if  necessary,  she 
could  make  reprisals ;  and  she  began  by  abruptly 
asking  one  day,  "  Robert,  who  is  Mrs.  Bowers  ] " 

"  Did  she  turn  up  1 "  he  asked  in  reply,  with  a 
joyous  guiltlessness  that  at  once  defeated  and  utterly 
consoled  his  wife.  "  That  was  very  kind  of  her ! 
But  how  did  she  find  you  out  1  I  never  told  her 
your  name  !  " 

"  She   never  turned   up — directly,"   said   Helen ; 


458  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

and  then  she  told  him  how  she  happened  to  know 
of  Mrs.  Bowers,  and  of  the  bad  half-hour  that  lady 
had  given  her. 

"  Well,  she  might  call  it  a  flirtation,"  said  Fenton, 
"  but  I  didn't  know  it  was  one.  /  thought  it  was 
just  walking  up  and  down  the  deck  and  talking 
about  you." 

"I'd  rather  you  wouldn't  have  talked  to  that  kind 
of  people  about  me,"  returned  Helen,  with  a  retro 
spective  objection  which  she  tried  in  vain  to  make 
avail  her. 

"  How  should  I  know  what  kind  of  person  she 
was  1  I  never  took  the  leas"t  notice  of  anything  she 
did  or  said." 

This  was  heavenly  hopeless,  and  Helen  resolved 
that  for  the  present  at  least  she  would  not  inculpate 
herself.  But  she  found  herself  saying,  "  Well,  then, 
I'm  going  to  tell  you  about  something  that  all  came 
from  my  being  desperate  about  you,  and  flirting  a 
little  one  day  just  after  you  sailed."  She  went  on 
to  make  a  full  and  free  confession,  to  which  her 
husband  listened  with  surprisingly  little  emotion. 
He  could  not  see  anything  romantic  in  it  at  all. 
He  could  not  see  anything  remarkable  in  Lord 
Rainford. 

"  You  can't,"  he  said  finally,  "  expect  me  to  admire 
a  man  who  came  so  near  making  an  Enoch  Arden  of 
me." 

"  Oh,  you  know  he  never  came  near  doing  any 
thing  of  the  kind,  Robert." 

"  He  came  as  near  as  he  could.  Do  you  wish  me 
to  admire  him  because  you  refused  him  ?  You 
refused  me  three  times." 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  459 

"  I  wish  you  to— to — appreciate  him." 
Fenton  laughed.  "  Oh,  well,  I  do  that,  of  course. 
I  've  no  doubt  he  was  a  very  good  fellow ;  and  I 
daresay  he  's  behaving  more  sensibly  than  I  did. 
Eroin  what  you  tell  me,  I  think  he  '11  get  over  his 
disappointment.  Perhaps  he  '11  end  by  marrying 
some  one  who  will  help  him  to  complete  his  reaction, 
and  cure  him  of  all  his  illusions  about  us  over  here. 
But  his  buy  ing  .that  pottery  was  nothing.  He  would 
have  been  a  very  poor  creature  if  he  had  resented 
your  refusal ;  I  know  that  from  my  own  experience." 
He  would  not  be  serious  about  Lord  Rainford ;  he 
made  her  share  in  the  good-natured  slight  with  which 
husband  and  wife  always  talk  over  the  sorrows  of  un 
lucky  pretendants.  He  professed  to  find  something 
much  more  admirable  inRin^^^^ 
of  the  loss  he  had  incurred  through  Hglm^jtjiak  he 
sauT,  was  fine,  for  Kimball  was  supported  by  no 
sentirnerftal  considerations,  and  had  no  money  to 
back  his  delicacy.  He  looked  Kimball  up,  and  made 
'TrlerTcTs'with  him ,-  and  a  man  who  could  do  nothing 
to  advance  his  own  fortunes  had  the  cheerful  auda 
city  to  suppose  that  he  might  promote  another's. 
He  wrote  to  Washington,  and  tried  to  get  Kimball 
appointed  assistant-keeper  of  one  of  the  lighthouses 
on  Cape  Ann ;  but,  pending  the  appointment  of  a 
gentleman  who  had  "  worked  "  for  the  newly-elected 
Congressman,  Kimball  found  a  place  as^  night-watch- 
man  in  a  large  clothing-house, "when-  lie  distinguished 
himseT!7^rtoeTi"6'firctuty  one  day,  by  quelling  a  panjc 
amp^^eJewtn^-gMs^t-arr-aiaTm  offire,  and  getting 
them  safely  ouT~of  the  building.'  The  news'paper 
iclat  follawmg"  this  affair  seemed  to  have  silently 


460  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

wrought  upon  the  imagination  of  a  public-spirited 
gentleman,  who  about  that  time  was  maturing  his 
plans  for  the  establishment  of  our  well-known  Ever- 
ton  Institute  of  Industrial  Arts  for  Young  Ladies. 
The  Institute  was  opened  on  a  small  scale  in  the  resi 
dence  of  Mr.  Everton  at  Beacon  Steps,  which  he 
devoted  to  it  during  his  life,  and  at  his  death  it 
was  removed  to  the  new  building  at  West  Newton ; 
but  from  the  first  Kimball  was  put  in  charge  as 
janitor,  and^  still  holds  his  place  from  the  Trustees. 

He  came  rather  apologetically  to  announce  his 
appointment  to  the  Fentons.  "  I  don't  seem  to  feel" 
he  said,  "  as  if  it  was  quite  the  thing  to  go  in  there 
without  saying  '  By  your  leave '  to  you,  Mrs.  Fenton. 
I  hain't  forgot  the  first  time  I  was  in  the  house ; 
and  I  don't  suppose  I  ever  passed  it  without  lookin' 
up  at  them  steps  and  thinkin'  of  you,  just  how  you 
appeared  that  day  when  you  came  run n in'  up  with 
your  bag  in  your  hand,  and  I  let  you  in." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  it  too,  Mr.  Kimball.  But  you 
mustn't  think  of  it  as  my  old  home,  and  you  mustn't 
feel  as  if  you  were  intruding.  If  the  place  could  be 
anything  to  me  after  Mr.  Everton  had  lived  there,  I 
should  be  glad  to  think  of  you  and  Mrs.  Kimball  in 
it,  looking  after  those  poor  girls,  as  I  know  you  will." 

"  I  guess  we  shall  do  the  best  we  know  how  by 
'em.  And  whatever  Mr.  Everton  is — and  I  guess 
least  said  's  soonest  mended,  even  amongst  friends, 
about  him  in  some  respects — you  can't  say  but  what 
it's  a  good  object.  If  he  can  have  girls  without 
any  dependence  but  themselves  taught  how  to  do 
something  for  their  own  livin',  /  guess  it 's  about 
equal  to  turnin'  the  house  into  a  church.  And  I 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  461 

guess  the  old  gentleman  's  about  right  in  confinin'  it 
to  girls  brought  up  as  ladies.  I  ain't  much  on  caste 
myself;  as  I  know  of,  but  I  guess  that 's  the  class  of 
girls  that  need  help  the  most." 

"  0  yes,  indeed  ! "  cried  Helen  fervently.  "  Of 
all  helpless  creatures  in  the  world,  they  are  the 
most  to  be  pitied.  I  know  you  '11  be  kind  to  them, 
Mr.  Kimball,  and  save  their  poor,  foolish  feelings  as 
much  as  you  can,  and  not  mind  their  weak,  silly  little 
pride,  if  it  ever  shows  itself." 

"  I  guess  you  can  depend  upon  me  for  that,"  said  Kim- 
ball.  "  I  understand  girls  pretty  well — or  I  ought  to, 
by  this  time.  And  once  a  lady,  always  a  lady,  I  say." 

Helen  even  promised  to  come  with  her  husband 
to  see  the  Kimballs  in  her  old  home.  She  cour 
ageously  kept  her  promise,  and  she  was  rewarded 
by  meeting  Mr.  Everton  there.  He  received  her 
very  cordially,  showing  no  sort  of  pique  or  resent 
ment, — no  more,  Fenton  suggested,  than  Lord  Kain- 
ford  himself, — and  took  her  over  the  house,  and 
explained  all  his  plans  to  her  with  a  flattering  con 
fidence  in  her  interest.  There  were  already  some 
young  ladies  there,  and  he  introduced  Helen  to 
them,,  and,  in  the  excess  of  his  good  feeling,  hinted 
at  the  desirability  of  her  formally  addressing  them 
as  visitors  to  schools  are  expected  to  do.  She 
refused  imperatively ;  but  to  one  of  the  girls  with 
whom  she  found  herself  in  sympathy  she  opened x 
her  heart  and  told  her  own  story.  "  And  oh  !"  she  x 
said  at  the  end,  "  do  learn  to  do  something  that 
people  have  need  of,  and  learn  to  do  it  well  and 
humbly,  and  just  as  if  you  had  been  working  for 
your  living  all  your  life.  Try  to  notice  how  men  do 


462  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

things,  and  when  you  're  at  work,  forget  that  you  're 
a  woman,  and,  above  all,  a  young  lady." 

After  she  came  away,  she  said  there  was  one 
more  thing  she  wished  to  say  to  that  girl. 

"What  was  that?"  asked  Fenton. 

"  Not  to  omit  the  first  decent  opportunity  of 
marrying  any  one  she  happened  to  be  in  love  with." 

"  Perhaps  it  wasn't  necessary  to  say  that,"  sug 
gested  her  husband. 

"  No,"  sighed  Helen ;  "  and  that 's  what  undoes 
all  the  rest." 

When  the  Butlers  heard  of  this  visit  of  hers  to 
her  old  home,  it  seemed  to  them  but  another  in 
stance  of  that  extraordinary  fortitude  of  spirit  which 
they  had  often  reason  to  admire  in  her.  Marian 
Eay  could  not  suffer  it  to  pass,  however,  without 
some  expression  of  surprise  that  Fenton  should  have 
allowed  her  to  go  :  she  wras  a  little  his  rival  on 
behalf  of  Lord  Rainford  still,  and  she  seized  what 
occasions  she  could  for  an  unfavourable  comparison  of 
their  characters.  In  fact,  now  that  he  had  really 
come  back,  she  had  not  wholly  forgiven  him  for 
doing  so  ;  but  the  younger  sisters  rejoiced  in  him 
as  a  thoroughly  satisfactory  equivalent  for  the 
romance  they  had  lost  in  the  nobleman.  If  Helen 
was  not  to  be  Lady  Rainford,  it  was  consoling  to 
have  her  the  wife  of  a  man  who  had  been  cast  away 
on  a  desert  island,  and  had  been  mourned  for  dead 
a  whole  year  and  more.  They  were  disappointed, 
however,  that  he  should  not  be  always  telling  the 
story  of  his  adventures,  but  should  only  now  and 
then  drop  bits  of  it  in  a  scrappy  way,  and  once 
—but  once  only — when  he  and  Helen  were  at 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  463 

Beverley,  they  pinned  him  down  to  a  full  and  minute 
narration. 

"  Ah,  but,"  said  Jessie  Butler,  when  all  was  told,  to 
the  very  last  moment  of  his  meeting  Helen  after  his  re 
turn,  "  you  haven't  said  how  you  felt,  auy  of  the  time." 

"  Well,  you  know,"  answered  Fenton,  rising,  and 
going  over  to  where  Helen  sat  dwelling  on  him  with 
shining  eyes,  "  I  can  look  back  and  see  how  I  ought 
to  have  felt  at  given  points." 

"  But — but  how  did  you  feel,"  pursued  one  of  his 
rapt  auditors,  "  when —  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Fenton,  "  that  will  do !  I  've 
given  you  the  facts ;  you  must  make  your  own 
fiction  out  of  them.  And  I  think,  while  you're 
at  it,  you  'd  better  get  another  hero." 

"  Never  !"  exclaimed  Jessie  Butler.  "  We  want 
you.  And  we  want  you  to  behave  something  like  a 
hero,  now.  You  can,  if  you  will.  Can't  he,  Helen  ?" 

"  I  never  can  make  him,"  said  his  wife  fondly. 

"  Then  that 's  because  he  doesn't  appreciate  his 
own  adventures  properly.  Now — ' 

"  Why,"  explained  Fenton,  "  the  adventures  were 
merely  a  lot  of  things  that  happened  to  me." 

"  Happened  to  you  !"  cried  his  champion  against 
himself  in  generous  indignation.  "  Did  it  merely 
happen  to  you  to  put  that  rope  round  you  and  swim 
ashore  with  it  when  the  ship  struck  ?  Did  it  merely 
happen  to  you  to  stay  there,  and  let  the  others  go 
off  in  the  boat  ?" 

Fenton  affected  to  give  the  arguments  serious 
thought.  "  Well,  you  know,  I  couldn't  very  well 
have  done  otherwise  under  t.i ••»  circumstances/' 

"  You  needn't  try  to  get  out  of  it  in  that  way ! 


464  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

You  have  every  attribute  of  a  real  hero,"  persisted 
his  worshipper. 

The  hero  laughed,  and  did  his  best  to  bear  the 
part  like  a  man.  Another  of  the  young  girls  took 
up  the  strain. 

"  Yes,  you  would  be  -entirely  satisfactory  if  you 
had  only  had  some  better  companion  in  misfortune." 

"Who,— Giffen  ]" 

"  Yes.  He  seems  so  hopelessly  commonplace," 
sighed  the  gentle  connoisseur  of  castaways. 

"He  was  certainly  not  more  than,  afti  average 
fellow-being,"  said  Fenton,  preparing  to  escape. 
"  But  he  was  equal  to  his  bad  luck." 

When  he  and  Helen  were  alone,  he  was  a  long 
time  silent. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Eobert  1 "  she  asked 
tenderly  at  last. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  he  said.  "  But  whenever  it  comes 
to  that  point,  I'm  afraid  that  Giffen  knew  I  wanted 
to  leave  him  to  die  alone  there  ! " 

"  You  didn't  want  to  ! "  she  protested  for  him. 

"Ah,  don't  put  it  that  way!"  he  cried.  "The 
best  you  can  say  for  me  is  that  I  didn't  do  it." 

She  could  only  tell  him  that  she  loved  him  more 
dearly  for  the  temptation  he  confessed,  than  if  there 
had  been  no  breach  in  his  armour.  He  had  a  simpli 
city  in  dealing  with  all  the  incidents  of  his  experience 
which  seemed  to  her  half  divine.  When  she  hotly 
invoked  justice  upon  the  wretches  who  had  stolen 
the  boat  and  abandoned  him  and  Giffen  on  the 
island,  he  said,  "  Oh,  what  could  atone  for  a  thing 
like  that  1  The  only  way  was  for  them  to  escape 
altogether."  He  would  not  even  let  her  denounce 


A  WOMAN'S  REASON.  465 

them  as  cowards  ;  he  contended  that  they  had  shown 
as  much  mere  courage  in  remaining  to  rifle  the  ship 
as  he  had  in  anything.  Giffen,  he  said,  was  the  only 
one  to  be  admired,  for  Giffen  was  afraid  all  the  time, 
and  yet  remained  to  share  his  fate.  But  Helen  con 
tended  that  this  was  nothing  wonderful ;  and  again 
she  wished  to  praise  him  for  what  he  had  suffered. 

"Ah,  don't  !"  he  said,  with  tragic  seriousness. 
"  There 's  nothing  in  all  that.  It  might  all  have 
happened  to  a  worse  man,  and  it  has  happened  to 
many  a  better  one.  It  hurts  me  to  have  you 
value  me  for  it.  Let  it  go,  and  give  me  a  little 
chance  for  the  future."  He  was  indeed  eager  to 
escape  from  all  that  related  to  that  passage  of  his 
life,  and  Helen  learned  to  believe  this.  At  certain 
moments  he  seemed  to  be  suffering  from  some 
strange  sort  of  mental  stress,  which  he  could  notN 
explain,  but  which  they  both  thought  must  be  the 
habit  of  anguish  formed  in  his  imprisonment  on  the 
atoll.  It  sometimes  woke  him  from  his  sleep — 
the  burden,  but  not  the  drama,  of  nightmare — a 
mere  formless  horror,  which  they  had  to  shape  and 
recognise  for  themselves. 

It  grew  less  and  less  as  the  time  passed,  and  when 
his  orders  came  to  report  for  duty  at  Washington, 
they  had  strength  for  the  parting.  He  supposed 
that  he  was  to  be  sent  to  sea  again,  but  he  found  that 
hewastobeput  in  charge  for  the  present  of  the  revenue 
cutter  for  provisioning  the  lighthouses  on  the  lihode 
Island  coast ;  and  when  removed  from  this  service, 
he  was  appointed  commandant  at  the  Narragansett 
Navy  Yard.  It  is  there  that  Helen  still  finds  her 
home  in  a  little  house  overlooking  the  Bay,  on  the 

2  G 


466  A  WOMAN'S  REASON. 

height  behind  the  vast  sheds  in  which  two  frigates 
of  obsolete  model,  began  in  Folk's  time,  are  slowly 
rotting  on  the  stocks,  in  a  sort  of  emblematic  ex 
pression  of  the  present  formidable  character  of  the 
American  navy. 

Fenton  is  subject  to  be  ordered  away  at  any 
moment  upon  other  duty  ;  but  till  his  orders  come 
he  rests  with  Helen  in  as  much  happiness  as  can 
fall  to  the  share  of  people  in  a  world  of  chance  and 
change.  The  days  of  their  separation  have  already 
faded  into  the  incredible  past :  and  if  her  experi 
ence  ever  had  any  peculiar  significance  to  her,  it  is 
rapidly  losing  that  meaning. 

/  She  remains  limited  in  her  opinions  and  motives 
/by  the  accidents  of  tradition  and  circumstance  that 
I  shape  us  all ;  at  the  end  she  is  neither  more  nor  less 
V  than  a  lady,  as  she  was  at  the  beginning.  She  has 
acquired  no  ideals  of  woman's  wrork  or  woman's  des 
tiny  ;  she  is  glad  to  have  solved  in  the  old  way  the 
problems  that  once  beset  her ;  and  in  all  that  has 
happened  she  feels  as  if  she  had  escaped,  rather  than 
achieved.  She  is  the  same,  and  yet  not  quite  the 
same  ;  for  one  never  endures  or  endeavours  to  one's- 
self  alone ;  she  keeps  her  little  prejudices,  but  she 
has  accumulated  a  stock  of  exceptions  to  their  appli 
cation  :  her  sympathies,  if  not  her  opinions,  have 
been  enlarged ;  and,  above  all,  her  unconsciousness 
has  been  trained  to  meet  bravely  and  sweetly  the 
duties  of  a  life  which  she  is  content  should  never  be 
splendid  or  ambitious. 


Re—a,,  —  2*»  ?$«»••—*  -If 


